


Blue Blood Runs Red

by earthdeep



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Medical Horror, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no recruitments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthdeep/pseuds/earthdeep
Summary: In the midst of the campaign against the Adrestian Empire, Byleth is captured by the enemy and presented with a job offer they simply cannot refuse.AKA I'm continuing to call this a  bylitza buddy cop AU for tax purposes
Relationships: Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the latest case of me just every few years sitting down and writing a long form fic involving arguably an excess of murder. It's fine and I'm not at all concerned about this trend in my larger works.
> 
> Just a heads up so we're all on the same page for what we want outta this:  
> 1) This is VERY slow burn. The ship tag is up there as a content warning more than anything else, 'cause this is not a romance fic.  
> 2) Azure Moon was a chronic disappointment to me and is my least favourite route of the game. I'm not here to bash anything, but my opinions will inevitably influence my writing as opinions are wont to do.
> 
> Other than that... enjoy the ride I guess!

Gronder had been a disaster. Not that they'd lost troops; far from it. By any accounts that would make it into a tactics textbook, the Faerghan army had claimed a resounding victory. Two armies driven off, for the pitiful price of a few stragglers in their battalions and a general whose body had quickly been bundled away for his sacrifice to be celebrated. Byleth had protected their students, and yet still they could feel the blood on their hands.

There were too many bodies on the field. Hacked and burned beyond recognition, many of them. Left to rot. The dead were usually buried, weren't they? It would take a landslide to intern the dead here.

Byleth paused in their wandering; their picking through remains had led them back to where they were before, looking at a face too young to be here. They'd recognised the girl by the time they attacked, but they weren't sure if she'd ever mentioned her name. It seemed strange to them that their mind clung to her if she was a near stranger. Her age, perhaps? But they were certain they'd been attacked as a mercenary by her age. Certain they'd killed in turn. And as foggy and cluttered as their memories were of their time before the monastery, they had no way of knowing they hadn't killed anyone so young before.

Yet the strange guilt refused to subside.

"Professor." Byleth snapped to attention, trying to place the barely familiar voice in the split second it took them to turn around. "How unlike you to be so unaware of your surroundings."

"Hubert." The Sword of the Creator was unsheathed in an instant, its glow weak from Byleth's own fatigue. They should've known better than to stay behind here.

"Come now, I know better than to challenge someone like you directly," he said, eyes tracking Byleth's sword warily. "This chance meeting need not end in bloodshed." Byleth didn't shift away from their combat stance.

"Why are you here, if not to fight?"

Hubert chuckled, shortly and darkly. "The dead will not catalogue themselves, professor." Byleth watched as his gaze finally shifted from their sword and fell to the corpse behind them. "Hm. So she ended up here."

"You know her?" The look Hubert gave them was... odd.

"Indeed. I take it she was not brought to the battlefield on your orders." Byleth shook their head. "Well, I suppose Count Bergliez will at least be relieved to hear she did not die as a defector."

"Bergliez?" Ah, they'd worked out what Hubert's expression was: disbelief. "So she was Caspar's..."

"Aunt, I believe."

"And I..." It was nothing. Caspar had been a Black Eagle. He wasn't one of theirs and they weren't tasked to protect him. And his aunt had never been their student at all, nor anyone but a benign civilian. They had done nothing out of line. Perhaps their feelings were rearing at shadows. Shadows that would overwhelm them in an instant if they were to regret killing anyone whose face they knew.

"Now if you will excuse me, professor." Unthinking, Byleth nodded and allowed Hubert to walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

Fhirdiad had officially been liberated. And the people cheered and cheered and cheered. And yet...

Things were finally on a righteous path, Byleth knew that. People were talking to Dimitri, and Dimitri was talking back. The streets were filled with revellers and those getting on with the clean up. They'd lost no more of their own and hadn't needed to strike down anyone they knew.

They weren't smiling. But neither had the emptiness of years before settled back around them like a cloak. Their gut roiled with every toast, every shout of praise or gratitude for the saviours of Fhirdiad. Saviours. As if that was their nature. As if they hadn't spent months knowingly abandoning the city to follow the vengeful whims of-

Byleth turned from the celebrations in the city plaza and stepped down a back alley. It was guilt, burning cold from their stomach up into their chest. Guilt for letting these people suffer, for letting them celebrate and not condemn, for not being grateful for Dimitri's re-found reason after so long, for cursing their students for awakening emotions they didn't want and couldn't fight off.

Squeezing their eyes shut helped a little, if only barely. The noise of the party was quieter here, would be quieter if they continued further towards the city walls. They could sort their thoughts there.

The outskirts were nice in their own way. The buildings here remained largely intact, though their residents appeared to be out at the moment. If the shadows from the wall didn't cool the air and prevent more than the odd weed from growing here, Byleth thought it might be a pleasant place to live.

Ah, yes, they could feel themself smiling, just a touch. No reminders here that they could have done better, no memories of those they had known as students collapsing to the ground dead moments before the land erupted into flame, no... No, the smile had gone. And the burgeoning guilt had returned.

There was a whoosh of magic nearby that Byleth felt more than heard. They readied themself, mind blessedly clearing in preparation for a fight. A hoof beat behind them and they swivelled just in time to parry the scythe aimed at their neck, heat spilling from their sword as it burst to life. “Death Knight.”

“It has been too long.” His dulled words were accentuated by another swing Byleth dodged with nary a step. Spotting the opening he'd left, Byleth lunged forwards, sword thrusting towards his unprotected leg. They'd barely torn fabric when the shaft of the Death Knight's scythe swung back in its arc, bowling them clean over only to look up in dread at the mounted knight looming over them.

They reached out and snagged a few threads of time, adamant to not make _that_ mistake again.

“It has been too long.” Same words, same attack dodged. It was quickly occurring to them they hadn't fought the Death Knight one on one before. He was a feared opponent for good reason, even if they'd managed to force him on the retreat a few times.

Byleth feinted this time, the Death Knight's returning blow just catching the tip of their sword before they rushed in once more and hit. The knight's breathing rattled from within his mask, a gasp more of surprise than pain.

A scream. A young man in civilian garb had rounded the corner onto the street. Not that the Death Knight seemed interested, but would _he_ try to attack? Simply get in the way if their fight moved? Right after they'd removed the Empire's forces from the city too...

“Stay back!” Byleth shouted at him. The civilian shifted on his feet like an anxious dog. Another swing from the scythe; an answering blow from the sword. An ache pulsed through their chest as the Sword of the Creator gave a sickening crack. Had they used it too long? And that damned civilian was still fidgeting in place. “If you want to be useful, fetch soldiers!” It seemed to be enough, at least; he was sprinting away. And with any luck, all Byleth had to do now was hold on.

The Death Knight must've known that too, his next attack wild and powerful. His blade was already halfway through Byleth's torso by the time they scrabbled at fast-unravelling time and dragged themselves back a moment.

The civilian's footsteps echoed over the cobblestones. This time as the scythe fell, Byleth swung, letting the segments of their sword separate and wrap around-

They stumbled forwards as their chest burned like it was splitting itself in half. Indeed, it seemed the Sword of the Creator was no longer fighting alongside them. The scythe cut into their back, and again Byleth swept back the seconds.

The sound of footsteps filled their ears, smothering the sound of Byleth's sword dropping to the ground. They would simply have to fight unarmed, then.

They ran to the side before the Death Knight could begin his deadly swing, mentally apologising to whoever lived in these houses for widening the battlefield. Enough distance between them, they twisted their hands to cast Nosferatu.

The Death Knight didn't even flinch as his horse leapt forwards, scythe shimmering with magic as it cut through the air. It caught Byleth's thigh, pain slicing into their dodge and forcing their roll to a halt. They caught a harsh breath and reached out into time, mind trying to catch onto anything at all.

The Death Knight's horse walked towards them, hoof beats slow and deliberate. “You should put up a better fight than this.” Byleth found enough energy to glare up at him, even if uncurling enough to get to their feet was an exhausting prospect. Blood was seeping through their clothes at a concerning rate; they likely had a fatal injury if a healer didn't arrive soon.

They bent their fingers into shape and tried to cast once more. The spell sunk harmlessly into the Death Knight's armour. Did they have a vulnerary on them? No, they concluded after a little patting around. They hadn't had a chance to restock after the siege.

Their surroundings were deathly silent but for the increasingly laboured breathing of Byleth. No one was going to arrive in time. “It is good that I will be given another chance to duel you.” With that, a purple miasma began to gather around the Death Knight's hand. “You must return to full condition before then.”

Byleth didn't get a chance to ask what he was talking about before the spell was launched and the world around them went dark.

  
  


The stones beneath their back felt different. Smoother. Less covered in Byleth's blood. They opened their eyes.

Looked like a cell. Three stone walls, one wall of bars that looked onto a torchlit corridor, no windows. Very cell-like. Sitting up, they noted they'd had their clothes changed: a light, undyed shirt and simple breeches. At least they'd been allowed to keep their boots, and their coat had been placed on the ground next to them. Said coat looked to be in normal condition, apart from where a part of the hem on a sleeve had come loose. They'd have to fix that once they returned to Garreg Mach.

Speaking of which...

A quick stretch, and Byleth clambered to their feet. Nothing seemed out of place, no lingering injuries, and, most importantly, when they focussed on the flow of time it seemed perfectly malleable. Yes, they were quite ready to be on their way out of wherever this was.

They moved over to the door and gave it a quick tug. It didn't move. A push didn't move it either. Not even a little. No matter, they were sure they'd had a master key on them for the siege. They just had to remember which pouch they put it on their belt.

They weren't wearing their belt. Their belt had been taken from them.

Byleth had spotted a problem.

Feeling a strike of dread, they stepped back to consider their options. Perhaps a good kick to the hinges? It was an uncomfortable angle, pressed up just a bit too close to a stone wall, but with a bit of spin should be able to get a good amount of force behind them.

Their heel collided right over the hinge, shock waves shuddering up their leg. They winced and leaned in to examine the damage to the door. Nothing appeared to have changed. Not even a crack. Byleth sighed. The lock might be weaker than the hinges, but it was too high up to kick properly. They supposed they could _punch_ it but... They looked between their bare hands and the rough, solid metal of the door. No.

A quick spell didn't do anything either, and Byleth was seriously starting to doubt their own faith proficiency.

“Oi!” A shout from down the corridor, and the clanking of an armoured soldier hurrying towards their cell. She drew closer and as the torchlight finally fell on her Byleth felt their stomach sink. The guard was clad in Imperial red and black. It seemed Byleth had been taken as a prisoner of war. “If you use magic like that again I'm getting someone to silence you!”

Byleth tilted their head, looking aside thoughtfully. “What about if I use magic in a different way?” they asked. They weren't sure how useful recovery magic would be in their escape, considering they appeared to be alone here, but it was best to be cautious.

“Don't give me that cheek!” spluttered the guard, her face turning a clashing shade of crimson. Byleth looked quizzically at her; they thought it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask. “Now step back from the bars before I _make_ you.” Figuring they might as well follow orders for now, Byleth turned and walked away to the back wall, scooping their coat up from the floor on the way. The guard squinted at them for a moment, before finally nodding to herself and continuing down the hallway on her patrol.

Byleth sat, letting their head fall back to the wall. This was turning out to be a mess. But with any luck they hadn't been taken too far from Fhirdiad and their students would be along to help them soon. Hopefully track down the Sword of the Creator too. They needed that.

They let their eyes close, figuring if they couldn't do much else, their time was best spent gathering strength. Via nap.


	3. Chapter 3

Byleth's body wasn't letting them sleep any more. Apparently five year long naps were exclusively relegated to fixing mortal injuries. For now it seemed they were stuck in this timeless jail cell, wishing they had any sort of company rather than being forced to sit alone with their thoughts. Which, no matter how many times they tried to redirect them to planning their next fishing trip, kept drifting where they didn't want them. The unwanted school reunions at Gronder, at Myrddin before that. Despite having to comfort their own students after ordering them to kill their schoolmates, they had no idea how to square that on their own. Maybe it required talking to someone else? In which case they weren't going to get far.

What they wouldn't give to be able to talk to Sothis. Even if she were to just scold them for sitting down and accepting their fate too easily. Maybe she'd tell them to...

Byleth couldn't really think of what she'd tell them after that. They never claimed to have much of an imagination. Though maybe that was a good thing in their line of work. After all, if they could imagine all the ways they'd seen people die happening to _them_ instead, they'd probably never leave their room.

No, they couldn't really imagine themself being left alone long enough for that. Fódlan couldn't bear to go a month without someone digging some new Hero's Relic out from hiding; a weapon that could think for itself too would never be allowed such luxury.

With a sigh, Byleth heaved themself to their feet, figuring that a little exercise would be a better use of their time. And maybe help them get back to sleep faster.

  
  


“Oi, you.” Byleth looked up from their stretches at the sound of the guard from earlier. She'd brought friends: a second footsoldier and a mage. “Get over 'ere.” Tilting their head, Byleth stepped towards the bars. The guard nodded at the mage and with a wave of his hands Byleth felt the stifling blanket of a Silence choke them.

“But I haven't cast any more magic,” they said, confused.

“It's a precaution,” the guard replied, fumbling her keys into the lock of the cell. “You're wanted.” The cell door swung open and without further ado Byleth was frogmarched out.

The other cells they walked past were empty, the dungeon unsettlingly quiet. Their escort did nothing to ease that, merely pushing or dragging them if they followed at the wrong pace or tripped on the staircase they were led up.

Finally they stopped outside a heavy door in a corridor of heavy doors. As they were shoved over the threshold, Byleth felt another shiver of silencing magic run through them. “Sit,” their guard ordered, pointing to a table and two chairs. The table was laid for afternoon tea. Curious. And rather at odds with the old bloodstain on the wood of the chair Byleth had been directed to. Nevertheless they sat, surveying the tea set. The guard and mage settled either side of the doorway, the other solider remaining outside.

Byleth tentatively reached for a plain biscuit, and no one stopped them. Sweet...

They were alerted to the newcomer by the soldier outside saluting with a, “Your Majesty!” and Byleth sighed, placing their half eaten biscuit down onto their plate. So the hot water just kept rising.

“Good afternoon, professor.” Emperor Edelgard slid into the chair opposite them, a masked, black clad mage following her into the room and silently adding themself to those watching the door. “You look as well as can be expected.” Byleth nodded in acknowledgement and picked their biscuit back up to nibble on.

If they could take down the emperor here and now, would that be enough to end the war? Cutting off the snake's head and letting the rest fall apart... Though if it wasn't done publicly, her death could feasibly be hidden long enough for the Kingdom to be defeated, the ensuing chaos only enough to hurt the common people left in the war's wake. And no doubt the moment they struck, Byleth themself would be killed, leaving the Kingdom without a strategist permanently. And even that was assuming that when they died, Sothis would let them _stay_ dead, rather than forcing them to turn back time and save themself.

Byleth reached for a second biscuit.

“I suppose you haven't been fed since your capture,” Edelgard said conversationally. “It's no wonder you're hungry. Here, you should drink as well.” She leaned forwards and poured tea into both of their cups: something light and citrus.

“How long have I been here?”

“Around a week.” Long enough, then, for her students to start a search party. “I'm afraid I wasn't able to return to Enbarr until now.”

Byleth froze. “I'm in Enbarr?” That was... unfortunate for any rescue prospects.

“Beneath it, yes. Where did you expect you were?” Byleth couldn't say they liked the chuckle Edelgard sent their way. But if they really had made it all the way to Enbarr...

“Where's Rhea? The cells around me were empty.”

“There is more than a single dungeon in Enbarr, professor.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “As for your being isolated... We could hardly risk you inspiring a riot among other prisoners.” Byleth tilted her head, confused. “You must be aware by now of the effect you have on others, surely.

“But I suppose that leads me to why you are here, and why we are talking. Think of this as a... recruitment drive.”

“You're asking me to join you, again.” It may have seemed five years further ago for Edelgard than for Byleth, but there was no way for her to have forgotten how that'd turned out last time. And it wasn't as if she'd tried to endear herself to them much since then. “My answer has not changed.” They took a third biscuit.

Edelgard sighed. “Disappointing, but not unexpected.” She ran a finger idly around the rim of her cup. “It surprises me that you trust me so little, yet eat and drink what I've offered to you without hesitation. You've not seen me touch the sweets here; for all you know, they could be poisoned.” Byleth shrugged.

“If they were, I won't have eaten any.” The ability to turn back time was endlessly practical, in that way.

“Oh?” Byleth took a swig of tea, holding eye contact. Edelgard glanced away first, a faint flush on her cheeks. “Yes,” she muttered, “quite the effect indeed.” She shook her head. “But let us negotiate.”

“So I can refuse again?”

“Well you _can_ ,” Edelgard tutted, “but I ask you understand your own position first.”

Begrudgingly Byleth set her cup down and reached for their next biscuit. “So what will you do when I refuse?” They could hear a frustrated sigh getting cut off in the emperor's throat.

“Should you continue to turn down my offer of cooperation-”

“Which I will.”

“Then I would have to find another way to make your capture practical. Firstly by offering your safe return in exchange for Dimitri's surrender.” So they were to be a hostage. Their life for the fate of a country. A hilariously uneven exchange. “Not that I expect him to accept, however.” Byleth looked up from their plate and peered at her curiously.

“Then why...”

“It is important to let the people know that I too wish for this war to end as swiftly and smoothly as is possible. That it is their king's stubbornness, not my bloodthirst that keeps it raging.”

They could almost laugh. “You sorely misjudge the people of Faerghus, Edelgard.” Edelgard's brows raised. “You didn't see Fhirdiad cheer for their king's return, for being rid of your rule.”

“I see. I suppose I must take that into consideration.” Her cup drained, Edelgard poured herself some more tea. “Of course, this is all taking into account purely _who_ you are.” Her gaze wandered over to those standing guard at the door before flicking back to Byleth. “As for _what_ you are...” She trailed off, cradling her tea in both hands. “I hope it need not come to that,” she murmured softly.

“Come to what?”

“Professor,” Edelgard said with a huff of a sigh. “Do you not wonder why it is that people flock to you? Why it is the church fawns over you?”

Byleth could only grimace. “My hair glows in the dark sometimes and I carry around a big magical sword. Those seem like obvious reasons.” They didn't mention the time thing. They'd tried telling Dimitri once, after a battle; he'd taken it as a joke but Sothis had berated them until they'd undone it.

“Do you really believe that is all there is, professor? As I recall you were hired months before you picked up the Sword of the Creator.”

“Rhea knew my parents,” Byleth said with a shrug. They took the penultimate biscuit.

“Then there is the sword itself,” Edelgard continued. “My...” She looked aside again. “My _colleagues_ have never seen anything quite like it.”

“It's just a Hero's Relic,” Byleth said around a mouthful of biscuit.

“Yet one no one but you seems to be capable of wielding.”

“Its crest stone's missing; it probably needs something as strong as the Crest of Flames to power it-”

“That is not enough.” Edelgard's cup clattered to its saucer, tea splashing over the sides and leaving it swimming in a puddle of brown. “Somehow that sword is bound to you and you alone, and my colleagues will not allow that to remain a mystery.”

“...I wish them luck, then.”

Edelgard snatched up the final biscuit, biting off a sigh with it. She chewed. Swallowed. “I implore you to think more thoroughly about your situation. It is certainly my _hope_ that you are willing to be more than a sword, but I suppose that is not something that can be forced.” In a bustle of heavy fabric she rose to her feet. “We will speak again, professor.” Byleth didn't deign her with their attention on her way out.

  
  


More than a sword. Hilarious.

They stared up at the ceiling of their cell, stretched out flat across the ground. There was moss growing in the cracks up there. Didn't seem particularly structurally sound.

More than a sword. Something other than a weapon to be sought after and wielded by whichever army. Someone who would think to resist a soldier that pointed them in the wrong direction.

So definitely not Byleth. The cold bodies of people they hadn't wanted dead spoke to that much. They still didn't understand why they'd fought against Alliance troops, why chasing off the last of the Imperial forces hadn't been enough to declare victory. But being left with that 'why' just led to more. Over and over, recursively until the biggest 'why' of all.

“Why am I fighting at all?”

The easy answer was for their students, because their students still wanted to follow their king, and Byleth wanted the best for their students.

But that would be pretending they had never overruled their students' wants, hadn't turned away Sylvain's requests to be on stable duty with only the cutest girls, hadn't failed Ashe on his wyvern rider exam when he could just barely fly and shoot at the same time, hadn't encouraged them to be their _best_.

Byleth thought back to their protests as they turned away from Fhirdiad that first time, their haggard faces as they saw who awaited them at Gronder. Was that the best for any of them? Was that the best for _Byleth_?

They rolled over on the floor, curling into themself. Clearly they were missing something here. Some component that went beyond survival, beyond strength. It felt so _close_ , their fingertips just brushing at the edge of some realisation, something that would tip and flood their wound-up mind with satisfaction.

Sleep found them still tightly wound.

  
  


The tea this time was strong and bitter, served with strange confections that resembled slices of month-stale bread. They tasted of almonds.

“Forgive me if I am rather short with you today, professor,” Edelgard said as she sat down. As if _manners_ would be the first thing Byleth would complain about. “My forces in the western territories have been... meeting some resistance, as of late.” It was nice to hear about the world outside the mouldering walls of the dungeon, even if only a little. Nice to hear that their disappearance had only served to rile up Faerghans further.

“Kidnapping me was a mistake for you, then.” Byleth couldn't help but feel a tad smug.

“Believe my words or do not, but I did not order your capture.” Edelgard plucked a sweet from the centre of the array and fiddled with it between her fingers. “The Death Knight made that decision on his own time.”

“A commander is the one responsible for the actions of their subordinates,” said Byleth. A look of curiosity crossed the emperor's face.

“A strange position for a mercenary to hold, don't you think? That one is responsible for the actions of others?”

“I'm a professor more recently than a mercenary.”

“So you believe yourself accountable for the actions of your students, whether or not you agree with them.” It was hardly a question, but Byleth nodded anyway. “And if, indeed, you find yourself disagreeing with them?”

The ensuing silence stretched. Byleth reached for their tea (still too hot to comfortably drink more than a sip), trying to wash from their mind the mangled corpses in their path on that first reunion at Garreg Mach. Forget the screams of that Adrestian general as Dimitri reached for his eyes. They should have stopped it sooner. Somehow.

“Professor? Are you-”

“What tea is this?” Byleth asked, lifting their cup and being silently thankful for their mask of a face. “I don't recognise it.” Edelgard paused.

“A blend specially created for House Hresvelg.” Byleth nodded in understanding and took to cradling their tea. The rest of the meeting was empty of conversation.

  
  


The third tea time had little iced tarts topped with glazed berries. Byleth dug into one the instant they sat down. It occurred to them that no one had come to give them food and water outside of these little interrogations, and they had absolutely no frame of reference to how long they had been kept here. Well, how much longer beyond that first week, at any rate. Hm... How would they know they were suffering from starvation? Ingrid had mentioned stomach pain once...

“Good afternoon, professor.” Byleth raised a few fingers in a wave as Edelgard settled opposite them and took up her own tart. “You seem more distracted than usual.”

“What date is it?”

“The third of Blue Sea Moon.” That was... So they'd been here a little over a month total. “I apologise for not meeting like this more often, but as you can imagine, I'm very busy.” Byleth stared at her.

“More troubles in the west?” Their smugness had yet to fade.

“The east, actually.” That was still nice to hear, though they couldn't deny the sting of pride in their chest falling in on itself. “While I was unable to attend Derdriu myself, reports indicate the battle for it was... bloody.” She took a bite of her tart and chewed slowly. Her brow creased. “Had I suffered less at Gronder, perhaps I-”

She cut herself off sharply, shaking her head. “No matter. As it stands, this war may be over by winter. And good riddance to it.

“Say, professor. Do you believe there are certain people who would make the world a better place simply by dying?” Byleth hoped their blank expression got across the right message. “Yes, I suppose that is a silly question to ask while holding you prisoner.” Edelgard sighed. “But allow me to clarify. Have you ever come across a person who makes life worse for everyone around them, is but a blight on this world, and yet cannot be removed without causing even more strife?” It took a moment for Byleth to parse the question.

“A bad person doing a good job?” they mused. Edelgard smiled, nodded.

“They are the most irritating sort of people, wouldn't you agree?” With a sip of their tea, Byleth nodded, just a little. It was obvious the emperor was trying to lead them into something, but they couldn't for the life of them figure out what. “Someone who causes pain by living, and causes pain by dying; there are far too many impossible situations like that in this world. Though of course, _you_ are hardly one constrained by possibility, professor.” Ah, and here they were.

“I've already told you I won't join you.”

“I am aware of that,” Edelgard shot back, just shy of a snap. “And I will not ask you to swear fealty for a cause you do not believe in.”

“However?”

“However, I believe there is room for us to work _alongside_ one another. For me to set you a task that will satisfy both of us.” Byleth's lips grew taut in irritation, but before they could open their mouth to answer- “Consider that the alternative is to be reduced to a specimen in a laboratory, professor.” They could feel their face slackening in shock at Edelgard's stern words and stony expression. A specimen? “As of now, the choice of _who_ or _what_ you are is still in your hands, but I cannot keep it that way forever. I have given you time to think, but I require an answer.

“Will you be defined by your actions, or by your blood?”

It wasn't much of a choice. Do as Edelgard said or have their body handed off to a bunch of researchers that were unlikely to be half as considerate as Professor Hanneman. Or a tenth as ethical with what they found.

Silently, Byleth reached for a new tart and picked off the berries from it. Their fingers were sticking together.

As much as they wanted to claim that they held Sothis' power within them, and thus could never let the Adrestian Empire's _allies_ get close to it, Byleth supposed it came down to something simpler. They still remembered Remire. They were _scared_.

“...What would you have me do?” they said at last.

A slow smile spread upon Edelgard's face. “Come,” she commanded, rising to her feet. Byleth supposed they wouldn't be finishing tea today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii, sorry about the unexpected delay getting this out! I've been really ill with an Unidentified Respiratory Virus (though thanks to the miserable incompetence of my country's government, I will likely never know for sure whether I was a statistic in a pandemic or not :/) which cause a preexisting issue with my spine to flare up. so I haven't been able to sit upright at my computer for more than a few minutes at a time for the past month! as such, I've been writing on my phone, which has been slowing me down both physically and mentally. I'm probably not going to be back at proper capacity until lockdown is over and I can see a chiropractor, which kinda sucks but I am glad it's not worse.
> 
> stay safe out there.

Edelgard led them up, narrow dungeon corridors seamlessly evolving into wide palatial halls. It was difficult for Byleth even to keep track of their path, one marble pillar looking much like the next, and the banners hanging from the walls simply showing eagles, eagles, eagles. Byleth had never held particularly strong opinions on architecture, but boy was that threatening to change.

While the halls had never changed, the people wandering through them had, clothes darkening, armour no longer out in the open, more creepy beaked masks. Telltale signs of which department they were encroaching on.

Edelgard rapped sharply on a polished black door (otherwise unremarkable – Byleth had no idea how anyone navigated this place) before entering. It appeared to be a drawing room of sorts, sparsely furnished and dingy without windows. Certainly a step up from the tea party in the interrogation chamber... but not a particularly _steep_ step. Edelgard gestured for them to take a seat on the sofa; someone really ought to replace the padding in it. "The professor is here!" she called towards a wall with a suspiciously shallow bookcase that Byleth doubted had ever fooled anyone. Sure enough, the shelving rattled and swung aside for the shadowy figure of Hubert to slide into the room.

"So we meet once more, professor." Byleth grunted in acknowledgement. "I take it your presence means..." He trailed off, looking towards Edelgard, who was now settling into an armchair.

"They will hear out their mission brief."

"Excellent." Byleth finally noted the small sheaf of papers Hubert had brought in with him, that he now placed on the coffee table before them. Curiosity winning out over any other reaction, Byleth reached out to the top page. _Gautier_ , read its heading. There followed a few notes on the land there, its geography and agriculture, before a sub-heading interjected about its border with Sreng. "As you are wasting _no_ time in investigating, the Adrestian Empire will be sending you to Gautier. Due to its location and unwillingness to engage in any sort of diplomacy, we have been unable to make headway there."

Byleth felt their lip curl. "So you want me to force the region to defect." As if they would- _could_ do that to one of the only territories that had remained loyal all this time.

"Not necessarily." Edelgard speaking again caught them by suprise. They jerked up to look at her. "While I cannot claim it would not benefit my aims greatly... If you would turn to the next page, professor?" Byleth hesitantly set the top page of their packet aside.

Profiles. _Margrave Augustin Sylvester Gautier, age 51, Minor Crest of Gautier._ A list of trivia of his path to his inheritence, military accomplishments, rumours of decidely ignoble behaviour. It reminded Byleth a little of the rosters they kept of their own students. _Margravine Lucia Gautier, née Levett, age 45._ More rumours solidified into writing. The ones about her killing and eating the bastards of her husband seemed a little far fetched. They suspected if there was a grain of truth to that, they would've heard an inappropriate joke about it from Sylvain at some point.

A quick scan of the page done, Byleth looked expectantly between Edelgard and Hubert. "You want me to... assassinate these people? Couldn't an ordinary spy do that?" Surely the Empire wasn't running dry on those.

"Were this so simple a task, indeed it would. But of course, this is you we are sending. _You_ are there to act as you see fit."

He stopped. Byleth waited, certain that couldn't be the end of their brief. But no one seemed about to move.

"...And then what?" they eventually asked.

"And then you return to Enbarr."

He stopped again. So this was what it was like to feel bewildered.

"You're giving me free rein once I'm in Kingdom territory?" They were going to run away. _Obviously_ they were going to run away.

"I trust your conscience will keep you on task." Byleth wondered whether they would have to be the one to remind Hubert that the last time they'd met face to face was over the corpse of a child Byleth had personally struck down. "...Though in this instance you will be sent off with a chaperone." That was more like it.

Hubert's gaze fell askance, off to the door, then across to Edelgard. The emperor sighed. "I did send someone to retrieve him."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Hubert shifted uncomfortably on his feet for a moment. "But I suppose we can continue without-"

He was cut off by a sharp knock, and the door swinging open. It took a beat for Byleth to process the long blond hair pulled back from a face they hadn't seen in full before. Jeritza. Death Knight. _Danger_.

Byleth sprung to their feet, hand reaching to their sword and-

Ah. Right. Their fingers tapped aimlessly at the linen over their waist. And it occurred to them now that they would get in trouble if they genuinely attacked the man; the others didn't seem surprised to see him.

"You're late," Hubert scolded, before turning his glare on Byleth. Sheepishly they sat back down, hackles still raised as they regarded Jeritza walking over to sit on the far end of their sofa. He himself seemed equally wary of them. "Seeing as you two are finally gathered in one place, I can go over the details of how you will be placed within the terri-"

"You're sending _him_ with me?" Byleth cut in.

"I rather thought that was obvious, professor." They gave Hubert their best incredulous look.

"I can't do much of anything if I get killed by my own chaperone." They swore they caught Jeritza smiling at that before he turned his head away.

"Jeritza is under strict orders not to kill anyone unless you step out of line." _Anyone_ , their mind echoed back at them. So they'd need to watch out for bystanders before making their moves. "If I've made that clear?" Byleth nodded, and allowed the spymaster to continue outlining their soon-to-be cover story.

Byleth finished adjusting the clothes that'd been tossed at them through the bars of their cell: a black swordmaster's uniform that somehow managed to be both too large and too small for their frame. At least no one protested them draping their beloved coat over their shoulders before offering themselves up to their escort.

The stables they were led to were dingy in the early morning light, a cacophonous mess of braying warhorses and ornate carriages. Meanwhile it appeared that _they_ were to travel in the back of a covered merchant's wagon that smelt faintly of sour wine. And they were to be trapped in it until they reached the other end of Fódlan... The long marches between battlefields and Garreg Mach seemed so much less tedious in hindsight.

At last they heard a commotion through the rough canvas, and the cart shuddered into movement. Across the continent it was, then.


	5. Chapter 5

The weather changed quite suddenly, the temperature dropping on the eighth night and not picking up with the sun filtering into the caravan. Byleth would've asked whether that meant they were close to Gautier, but none of their entourage were talking to them; twice a day bread and water were pushed into the cart on a tray, and they'd be taken away while Byleth slept at night. The bars of their cage may have changed shape, but they couldn't say they felt any less of a trapped animal.

The muffled voices outside arose suddenly, and the wagon slowed to a stop. A flap of fabric pushed aside, and blinding light was left to flood into the cart. Byleth threw a hand up while they squinted against the brightness. "Out," ordered the soldier-cum-fake merchant, glaring at them with open distaste.

Even in the height of summer, it seemed Gautier was reluctant to unfreeze. The sparse, scrubby grass around them was glittering with frost, making the shallow hills on either side of the road look like barren mounds of salt. People were really able to live here?

"We'll keep someone in town," they overhead someone else say, somewhere round the front of the wagon. Jeritza grunted in response. "Ask for Eider." Footsteps crunched closer, and the Death Knight finally bothered to show his face. Byleth couldn't help but noted he'd been given a borrowed uniform that actually _fit_. And a sword. Hm.

"I was told I would get a sword on arrival," they said, trying to catch the eye of someone.

"Well, change of plan," snapped the soldier who got them out of the caravan. "I don't care if some minister wants to give you a sword; he's not the one getting skewered over it." ...It wasn't like Byleth couldn't just kill them with magic. Or their bare hands if they really wanted to.

"I don't want to kill you." The soldier gave a derisive snort at that and trounced to the front of the caravan. Honestly, there was no reasoning with some people.

With the crack of a whip, the horses pulling the wagon started off, their escort leaving without so much as a wave goodbye. Byleth got the impression that lot didn't care for them much. Or for the Death Knight, either, for that matter. Not that they could blame them there.

Jeritza didn't bother say anything before marching off to the nearest hill; Byleth had to turn as his footsteps crunched away. Flexing their disappointingly empty hands, they settled for trudging up the bank behind him.

It was surprisingly hard work making their way across the freezing landscape. The uneven soil beneath their feet was as hard as any rock and hurt like hell when Byleth stubbed their toes on it. In the distance, a square, grey stone tower loomed ominously over its neighbouring village: the Gautier residence, presumably. Byleth didn't rightly know what to call the great building. A fortress? A keep?

"We should arrive before sunset," Jeritza said, startling Byleth out of their musing. Looking up at the sky, the sun still hung low. It had been hanging low for quite some time now.

"...How far away is sunset?" Jeritza too looked up at the sun. Then back down. He didn't respond further. It wasn't soon, then.

It warmed up as the day's walking went on, frost gradually melting into dew, and then into mist. But the castle ahead of them somehow lingered through it, a heavy reminder of why Byleth was here.

At last, they crossed with another road that wrapped around the base of the hill Castle Gautier stood atop and off to the village. The packed dirt may as well have been fine silk under their feet after what felt like a lifetime hobbling cross-country. It didn't take long after that to come to a fork in the road, one rock lined path leading up to the imposing figure of the castle.

About halfway up, right as the terrain began to flatten, a pair of soldiers were stationed at a squat stone outpost. "You two!" one of them called out as they passed. His companion hurriedly stood to attention and made to block the road onwards. "State your business!" Jeritza stared pointedly at Byleth.

"We wish to speak with the margrave," they said.

"And I should let you in because..?" Byleth missed having the de facto respect of the people around them. It made things so much easier.

"I know his son well." Neither of the soldiers bothered to hide their laughter. Did they say something strange?

"Listen," gasped the first soldier around his continued cackling, "whatever you think you've had going with that guy, you're being led on, got it? You best take your brother, or whoever that is you've got there, and go home, get rid of any ideas about marrying into nobility-"

_Marriage_?! What-

Ah, no. Sylvain. Of course.

Byleth shook their head. "I'm Sylvain's teacher." The soldiers suddenly stopped laughing. 

"...What?"

"My name is Byleth Eisner. I taught at the Officers' Academy before the war." The soldiers were looking at each other uncomfortably now.

"And your friend over there?" the far soldier said, with a nod towards Jeritza.

"He's-" Byleth paused, ears pricked to the faint scuff of fabric that accompanied every slight movement of his. "He's someone I picked up on the way here."

"...Huh." He seemed suspicious. But 'not telling everyone the dreaded Death Knight was among them' was part of their mission briefing, unfortunately. "I'll... bring the margrave down?" The other soldier shrugged, and his companion turned to jog up towards the castle, armoured boots clanking all the way. Now alone with them, the remaining guard toyed idly with his lance, eyes raking up and down the pair.

"So, uh," he stammered, gaze currently sticking to Byleth. Byleth stared him down. "You'd be that professor I've heard people talking about, then."

"Probably."

"...I was sort of expecting you to have a sword." So were they. "It's not... I don't know, is it actually a magic sword you're supposed to have? I don't know how these are supposed to work. It's not like _I've_ ever gotten to try out anything fancier than steel so..." His voice trailed off into a grimace alongside the distinct sound of Jeritza drawing his sword.

"Put that back," Byleth chided.

"His incessant chatter-"

"Smalltalk is not grounds for stabbing someone." A low growl as Jeritza turned his stance to them.

"And getting in my way?"

"Also not grounds for stabbing someone." Jeritza huffed and visibly considered his next question.

"...Wasting my time?"

"Still no." It was enough to start making Byleth nostalgic for their time at the academy; they'd spent many an unfortunate conversation negotiating with certain students when it was okay to punch one's childhood friend in the jaw. The answer Seteth had later corrected them with was "No", it turned out. Which didn't sound quite right, but they'd deferred to his seniority on that front.

Thankfully they were interrupted by the sound of the second guard traipsing down the path, a man who was presumably the margrave hot on his heels. Their own soldier practically sagged in relief. "These are them, sir!"

The margrave was a bear of a man, taller even than Jeritza and far broader. Wrapped in thick furs and with his shaggy silver beard, he looked like he'd be more at home in the frigid wildnerness than running a margravate. "It seems we meet at last, professor," he said, in a gruff tone that belied years of expecting others to follow his orders. "I had been told you were missing in action. Again." Byleth supposed it was becoming a habit.

Before they opened their mouth to explain themself, however, they caught sight of the lance strapped to the margrave's back. So if he was armed, and the two Gautier guards were armed, and Byleth still had their magic... That was four against one. And those odds were awfully appealing.

"Yes, I had been captured." They let the begins of Nosferatu bubble beneath the skin of their palms. "And this is the agent of the Empire keeping me hostage."

They bounded to the side, getting a first hit on the Death Knight before he had a chance to gather his wits. But it was to be shortlived. In seconds, he'd plunged his already drawn sword into the gut of one of the guards. The second at least had time to prepare his weapon, but in the close quarters they'd started in, it was trivial for Jeritza to step to near for a polearm to be effective.

"What do you think you-" The margrave's words were interrupted by the screech of the Death Knight's blade being soundly blocked by the haft of his lance. A grunt of effort, a push with the weapon, and Jeritza was forced to stagger back. Now he was away from the downed bodies of the guards, their lances thrown down beside them. Byleth grimaced, and lunged for one; even a flimsy iron lance would do more damage to the Death Knight than a Nosferatu or their bare fists. The borrowed weapon felt unfamiliar and unwieldy in their hands, but they tried to recall their minimal lance training and thrust forwards anyway. An upwards swing from the Death Knight's blade knocked their lance upwards and they dropped into a roll to avoid the next strike aimed at their open torso.

They felt a gust of air ruffle their hair as the margrave barrelled past, lance aimed at Jeritza's neck. In the nick of time he ducked, shifting round to elbow the margrave in the gut, hard, as light sparked around him. The margrave stumbled back towards where Byleth sprawled, _directly_ towards where Byleth sprawled.

Pain stabbed through their shin as the Margrave stepped on it and rolled backwards through the air. Byleth's angle was awkward; they could only see the wild, bloodthirsty look on the Death Knight's face as he thrust his sword into the flesh of the margrave's inner thigh. The margrave's weapon clattered to the ground a ways behind him.

So with that it was one on one again, once again with Byleth significantly more poorly armed than the Death Knight towering above them. Their body hummed with frustration.

Well, not much point continuing down this path.

Byleth took ahold of the flow of time, and cast it back.

"I had been told you were missing in action," said a perfectly healthy Margrave Gautier. "Again." Now, where were they..? Ah, that was right.

"Yes, I was captured after the siege of Fhirdiad by a caravan of dark mages for nefarious purposes. I have only just escaped." They were pretty sure that was how Hubert had phrased their cover. It was a bit too long ago to check precisely, irritatingly. "I was also able to rescue a fellow prisoner, Jerry. We require shelter as we are still being pursued by our captors." That should be everything! Maybe once the war was over they could pick up a job as a messenger...

The margrave raised a bushy brow and leant back on one leg, arms crossing. "Hm. You're certainly to the point." The guards either side of him shared a look behind his back. "Now what if I said I don't believe you?" Byleth tilted their head. They hadn't expected for their lie to be seen through so easily. "I may not have met the famed Professor Byleth in person before, but there isn't a soul in Fódlan who doesn't know about the Sword of the Creator that you aren't wielding." Oh. He'd picked upon the only thing they weren't lying about. Interesting decision. Looked like their charade would have to continue. 

"The mages took it."

"How _convenient_." And to think, that was pretty close to the truth, too. But maybe if the margrave got suspicious enough, he'd summon more soldiers that would stand a chance in a fight with-

"Your crest," growled Jeritza beside them, bringing Byleth out of their own head. "Show him." And there went any time to gather reinforcements. Sighing, Byleth put their hand out in front of them and focussed on the blood running through them. The Crest of Flames unfurled above it in a burst of soft golden light. Instantly the margrave's expression changed from derision to surprise.

"Yes, that- My apologies for doubting you, professor." He cleared his throat. "House Gautier will of course be glad to offer you shelter until you are able to return to the frontlines." He spared a glance for Jeritza, dragging his eyes up and down snidely. "Your friend too, I suppose."

"We may be here some time," Byleth said. "We have likely been followed by the dark mages that captured us. It would be safer to wait for them to attempt a siege of the margravate than to be set upon on the road to Garreg Mach."

"Oh? And how long do you think that'll take?" Byleth paused, looking off in thought. It was notably harder to predict the movements of an enemy that they knew didn't exist. And the mission they'd been given hadn't had a time limit either. Their thoughts were cut off by the margrave sighing and wiping a hand across his face. "No matter. I suppose you should come inside rather than stand around like sitting ducks." He turned and began to march uphill. "Men, look out for dark mages!" he barked without checking back over his shoulder.

Fabric rustled as Jeritza walked on. Byleth lowered their head and huffed out through their nose. Well, time for their first act as a traitor, they guessed. They took their next step towards Castle Gautier.


	6. Chapter 6

It was cold inside the castle. The rugs on the floors and tapestries adorning the walls failed to add colour where the lack of windows drained it, instead only limiting where fires could be lit to throw life into the place. But at least the tapestries told different stories, enough that Byleth could track the corridors Margrave Gautier was leading them down.

"Lucia!" he called, opening a heavy wooden door beside a tapestry depicting a forest hunt. On the other side was a well furnished parlour, currently containing one woman looking up from her embroidery - the margravine, evidently. She was pointy in ways Byleth hadn't expected possible for a human, with fading brown hair tied tight behind her head. And it was especially disconcerting that when Byleth looked at her, Sylvain's eyes peered back. "We'll be having guests." The margravine examined the two of them appraisingly, then returned to her needlework.

"How long will they be staying?" she asked, boredom evident in her tone.

"Until their current set of enemies have been dealt with." So he was making that decision on his own, was he? "How many of them were there?" He was looking at Byleth now.

"...I wasn't counting." The margrave clicked his tongue irritably.

"And you've been commanding our troops, have you? It's unbelievable you haven't gotten them all slaughtered with carelessness like that." Well that wasn't fair. They could seize a bridge or a city just fine; it was _harder_ when they had to create so much from thin air.

"Perhaps a dozen," said Jeritza suddenly. That made the margrave raise his brows, opening his mouth to sneer. _That was obviously too low a number!_

"That we killed!" Byleth cut in. "But they were definitely part of a larger organisation that we could not fight without the help of Gautier." The margrave shut his mouth with a throaty grumble.

"Gautier's forces are needed to hold the border," he said after a pause. "I will have to send a messenger to Garreg Mach requesting they come and deal with this." Byleth perked up. That would be _perfect_! And best of all, Jeritza could do nothing but look upset about it without looking-

"I overheard their talk of having spies placed at Garreg Mach. The king's army is compromised." Or he could do _that_ , they supposed. Byleth glared at him, more than anything trying to discern whether there was truth at the centre of his statement or if he was just more adept at lying than them.

Regardless, Margrave Gautier snorted derisively. "As if I would let my decisions be dictated by some whelp just because I recognised the one who dragged him in." Relief bloomed in Byleth's chest. "Professor, accompany me to my study, would you? No point writing up a letter without you there to fill in the details." At Byleth's nod, the margrave turned back to the door.

Jeritza stepped sideways to block him. "I will not allow you to be alone with them," he growled. Ordinarily clad in heavy armour and taller than anyone around, he now looked more like a kitten facing down a wyvern. Byleth might even have found the sight amusing, if they hadn't already watched the margrave's blood be spilt once today.

"How _dare_ you speak to me like that-" And as Jeritza's demeanour soured into open bloodlust, Byleth pulled them all back.

"I will not allow you to be alone with them."

"That's fine," Byleth said before the situation could escalate. They made eye contact with the margrave. "Jerry has information too." A moment of painfully reluctant consideration passed before he nodded and brushed past Jeritza.

Byleth sighed. They hoped they'd get access to reinforcements soon.

By the time margrave finally demanded they break for dinner, Byleth had lost track of time. There were no windows in the stuffy little office space, and they'd rewound time to rework a statement enough to leave them dizzy. But at least they'd kept things calm enough to not prompt the Death Knight into a murder spree.

Byleth had never detested the Adrestian Empire quite as much as this moment for making them do this.

"I'll get a squire to run it first thing after dinner," Margrave Gautier chattered as he walked shoulder to shoulder with Byleth; Jeritza trailed a few paces behind, glare digging into the back of their neck.

Dinner turned out to involve a lot of meat and cheese and troublingly little else. It was the height of summer, yet the most vegetal thing at the table was the wine. And even then, Byleth wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be cut with dripping.

"I've had rooms made for each of you," said the margravine, suddenly breaking the silence filled only by the scrape of cutlery on crockery. "The professor will take the guest suite on the second floor, and the other one will stay down by the servants'-"

"I will stay in their room," Jeritza said darkly. His hand gripped tight around his forkful of venison.

Affronted, the margravine looked as if she were about to object, but Byleth was getting far, _far_ too tired for this. "Alright," they said. It wasn't as if they were planning on doing anything but sleeping: no point in adding obstacles to Jeritza watching them.

The atmosphere in the dining room was distinctly less comfortable now, though.

The guest room was larger than Byleth had expected a bedroom to be. Granted, they'd only had inns and their Garreg Mach dormitory to compare it to, but they were sure that had to count for something. Sadly, the size still didn't translate to airiness. There was _one_ window, a paneless arrow slit of a thing with a plain wooden shutter hanging to one side. Beyond that, a bed, a fireplace, a bear rug in front of said fireplace (complete with poorly taxidermied head), a wardrobe, and a writing desk. Seemed a bit empty. But then again, it wasn't somewhere anybody lived.

Byleth silently slipped out of their boots, hung their coat in the wardrobe, and made right for the bed; they hadn't slept in one in over a month, and by Sothis they were going to make the most of _something_ on this little excursion.

"What are you doing?" Jeritza's voice rang over from the desk when Byleth was halfway under the covers already.

"Going to bed." They weren't sure what else it looked like.

Jeritza glared at them, obviously put out. "That's the only bed." Well, yes. It was a guest bedroom, not a guest _beds_ room. "...We shall duel for it."

"No we won't," said Byleth dismissively, tucking themself in comfortably. They yawned. "It's big enough to share."

"You wish to... share the bed." His tone was oddly incredulous. Muted footsteps, as he walked over - to Byleth's side of the bed for some reason. "Why?" He was acting as if it were _strange_ to share a bed with a travel companion.

"Because I want to sleep." A grim light entered Jeritza's expression and Byleth inwardly groaned. They tentatively felt for time's flow; they probably had a little left in them still.

"Why are you so unwilling to fight me?" Who wanted to fight over not having to share a bed? "You've been willing to fight me before."

"On the battlefield." When the Death Knight was a _threat_. Even then, it was easier to get everyone to just avoid him. "I don't have a reason now."

"Enjoyment is a reason." Byleth hadn't thought they'd see the day when Jeritza's expression could be described as a _pout_ but here they were. It blended poorly with the frown creasing the top of his face, like someone had hastily pasted two incomplete paintings together. Maybe that was why he always wore that mask when he was teaching at the academy.

At Byleth's continued silence, Jeritza harrumphed and stepped away. Had he been under the impression they _enjoyed_ fighting?

Byleth rolled over and let their eyes fall closed. Fighting was just what they _did_.

Scratching, like a pen on paper, sounded from the desk. What did they _enjoy_?

An old question rattled around their head as they drifted off. _Why were they fighting?_

Sunlight was curling through the boards of the shutters when Byleth opened their eyes. With a yawn and a stretch, they forced themself to sit up. It appeared they were alone in the room for the moment. No one to tell them off for snuggling back down under the covers and-

Byleth was going to blame Sothis for the inexplicable cold shudder that ran down their spine at that thought.

Shaking off the wave of melancholy threatening to set in, they swung their legs onto the floor and pushed themself upright. They should go procure breakfast.

But as they navigated back down to ground level, a commotion sounded louder and louder. "Who else could it have been?!" yelled Margrave Gautier, aggrieved voice deafening as Byleth stepped into the dining room. There were two armed guards by him, each looking some level of distressed. The margrave caught sight of their entrance, turning to them fully with a grimace. "Professor. We've run into something of an incident." Byleth straightened. "The messenger I sent off last night's turned back up. Dead. Your little _dark mage problem_ is after a _fight_ , it seems."

Byleth's mouth felt too dry as they swallowed. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, the margrave turned back to his soldiers and continued barking at them; Byleth wasn't inclined to listen. 

It couldn't be that easy. Of course it couldn't.

They sat down limply at the table and stared at the man opposite, the man happily eating a pastry and staring right back at them. "You." Jeritza merely continued eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me to me: realistically it makes no sense for there only being one bed to create any sort of friction in this setting, considering how normal it was historically to have a whole family sharing a bed  
> also me to me, having been dragged around one too many historic manor houses as a kid: not among nobility tho  
> me to me: shit u rite


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a little strange having such non-talkative main characters ^-^; I'm used to ending up with very long scenes when conversations get out of hand, but I'm ending up with a lot of shorter scenes instead. ah well, it's good to challenge yourself.

So they would need to build their forces up in Gautier. That was the answer Byleth came to over breakfast. Build a battalion; take down the Death Knight; escape back to Garreg Mach; win the war. A clear, obvious direction that they could follow.

Then there was the matter of actually _doing_ it without killing everyone in the margravate, which was going to be the hard part. Jeritza seemed perpetually on a hair trigger, all too ready to eliminate anything even mildly threatening. Byleth wouldn't have room to move so long as he was wound that tight.

Hm. That was certainly an angle that was just begging for an attack. Relax Jeritza; relax their leash; go do all the other stuff.

Byleth sipped their tea and stared across the table at the foe in question. A week ago, they probably wouldn't have a clue where to start, but after last night... “Margrave?” they said, turning their head just enough to keep Jeritza in their peripheral vision, just in case. “Do you have a training yard here?”

“Of course,” the margrave scoffed. “I take it you wish to use it then?” Disdain stained his voice; Byleth guessed he was in a bad mood after recent events.

“I want to ensure I'm not rusty after my captivity.” And as Jeritza shifted at the edge of their sight, they turned to address him too. “I also want to see what level Jerry's at.” Jeritza's eyes narrowed, gaze alight with deserved distrust.

“Eh, I suppose it makes sense now why every missive I've gotten these past months still refers to you as 'the professor' rather than your damned name-”

“ _Language_ , Augustin,” butted in the margravine. An irritable click of the tongue was the only acknowledgement the margrave gave her before continuing to Byleth,

“Go ahead, knock yourselves out. Just put everything back exactly where you found it.” Byleth tried to give him a smile in thanks. They weren't sure he noticed their effort.

“What game are you playing?” Jeritza was on them the instant they stepped outside. The side door they'd left through slammed shut behind them.

Byleth regarded him coolly. “I thought you wanted to fight me.”

“But why _now_?”

“Why not? Isn't enjoyment a reason?” The sight of Jeritza grinding his teeth as his own words were thrown back at him was... rather pleasant, actually. “Though if you didn't want to spar right now, I understand-”

“I didn't say that!” Seemingly realising too late how overeager he sounded, Jeritza huffed and reached for the handle of his sword. Not drawing it, just... letting it sit there. “You should be advancing your mission, not wasting time.” Byleth hummed.

“I was told my mission was to do what my conscience said. My conscience says down time is important.”

The training yard was something of a disappointment now that Byleth had been spoiled by Garreg Mach, no more than a fenced off area of ground a little more rugged than its surroundings. A nearby shed looked promising in terms of equipment, and a quick look confirmed that yes, here there be weapons. They could practically feel Jeritza breathing down their neck while they perused the array of lances that curiously lacked anything less difficult to maim with than iron. Maybe all the safer training weapons were just broken at the moment.

"If you use one of these lances, I can use your sword," Byleth said, finally turning to look at their perpetual shadow. Their shadow stared back, visibly unimpressed. "You know how much worse I am with-" They cut themself off. No, that'd only happened in a battle that wasn't. Playing with time could get confusing. "I wouldn't put up a good fight." Jeritza glanced aside, silent. Then he shuffled past them and grasped one of the steel lances from its rack. Hefting its weight between his hands for a moment, he sighed. Drew his sword. Shoved the flat of it into Byleth's chest.

"I expect it back afterwards." Byleth offered him a smile in thanks as they took hold of it properly. It may not have been _their_ sword, but it was comforting to have.

It was a little warmer than the previous day, and the ground of the ring was slick with mud. "Point goes to first blood," Byleth droned as they got into proper stance. The world dropped into focus around them, just them and Jeritza facing each other down.

They began to pace.

Byleth was the first to lunge, a quick, assessing feint to their opponent's left. Jeritza's lance spun to block, and Byleth used the opening on his right to thrust in. The point of their blade just barely brushed past his ribs before he swung back at Byleth's arm, forcing them to hop back. Not quite enough for point.

Jeritza pressed on with his momentum, another strike, and another for Byleth to duck under.

It was a little strange fighting the Death Knight like this: no special weapons, no horse to get in the way. A swing that would surely have cut them if Jeritza were wielding a scythe now sailed harmlessly past their ear; a distance that would allow them to ensure the first hit now left them hopelessly stranded. It stopped Byleth's mind settling down fully and letting their body move by rote. They weren't sure if they appreciated that or not.

They continued back and forth for some time in their curious stalemate. Swing, block, swing, dodge, on and on as the sun slowly rose higher in the sky. Apparently they'd been going long enough that the margrave had finished whatever he'd been busy with that morning and come out to lean on the ring's fencing, another one of the shed's training lances by his side. With a particularly heavy lunge that Byleth barely ducked, Margrave Gautier finally announced his presence with an intrigued comment of,

"He's not half bad, is he?" Jeritza clearly hadn't noticed the man's approach and now flinched towards the sudden voice. It wasn't a large motion, but it was just enough that his next block was shaky, and his foot skidded out of place on the difficult terrain. Byleth was all too happy to lean their full weight onto his chest and send the pair of them down the rest of the way. They held their sword across his throat; the damned thing was so sharp they didn't even need to put pressure on it for red to bead along the edge.

"Point," they said. A little bubble of satisfaction made its home in Byleth's chest at Jeritza's acquiescing grunt. They got to their feet as Margrave Gautier walked towards them.

"Mind if I have a round against you?" he asked. "It's been too long since I've had a challenge." Well, Byleth didn't see why not.

It was quickly evident that their match against the margrave was going to be much, _much_ shorter than that against Jeritza. Whether by age, disuse, or simple lack of ability, his attacks were weak and sloppy, overextending at seemingly every opportunity. Byleth supposed some opponents may be cowed by the showiness of his lancework... right until they slipped right on past him and prodded a sword into the small of his back. Like Byleth had done, not a minute into their spar.

"Point."

"There's no blood," Jeritza commented drily from ringside.

"No, no, that's quite alright," the margrave insisted, springing forwards at a speed that would've put him at an advantage if he'd bothered to use it earlier. "I see you were holding back in your duel before!" Byleth tilted their head in confusion.

"No?"

The margrave laughed and slung an arm over their shoulders. "Come now, professor, there's no need to spare the lad's feelings. I'm sure he can handle it." Byleth blinked.

"Spare whose feelings from what?" The margrave laughed again instead of answering their question and thumped them on the arm.

"I see how it is," he said knowingly. Byleth wished _they_ knew how it was. "Best two out of three?"

They'd all been called in for lunch after a few more rounds of Byleth trouncing the margrave. He'd pushed his lance into Byleth's arms with a quick, "put that away for me," and wandered off. They were fairly sure that was considered rude. But they had agreed to put everything back when they were done, so off to the equipment shed it was.

Predictably, Jeritza followed close behind. "I think your lance went over there." Byleth pointed while trying to work out where the margrave had taken his one from. Ah, there was a space on the end of one of the racks; that'd be it.

The tip of a lance turned to point at them in their peripheral vision. "Hand over the sword." It all felt rather ridiculous, but then again what _wasn't_ with this man? Byleth pushed the sword at him with more force than probably warranted.

"You're more confident with a lance. Why not borrow one and let me keep the sword? Then you can still fight me off." It seemed perfectly simple to Byleth, but Jeritza was looking at them as if they'd grown a second head.

"I an not giving you the very tool you need to stab me in my sleep!" In his sleep? Why would Byleth-

Wait a second.

Byleth was overcome with the urge to hit their head on something. "People can be killed when they're unconscious," they said faintly.

"...Did you not _realise_ that?!" Jeritza cried, incredulous.

"I've not killed anyone in their sleep before! Have _you_?" 

Jeritza faltered before answering. "I haven't because I haven't wanted to, not because I _forgot it was an option_!" Well, they'd always had their father or Sothis to wake them up if they were in danger! It was perfectly reasonable to forget not everyone had something like that!

But it was fine! It was fine. Now they knew didn't have to amass a whole team of soldiers when they could just wait for Jeritza to become vulnerable-

Like when they literally had a sword to his neck, _just_ long enough ago now to be out of reach of fixing their stupid mistake! They'd been so focussed on the fact they'd _won_ that it didn't even cross their mind that they needed the Death Knight dead!

Byleth turned and slammed their forehead into the doorjamb. They'd revoked their claim on the title of tactician forever. There was no forgiving letting a chance like that slip by.

Jeritza carefully stepped around them on his way out. "Wash up before you eat," Byleth muttered after him. "There's still blood on you."

For the fifth time now, Byleth tried to rub the tiredness out of their eyes, and adjusted the way their legs were folded between them and the mattress. They were beginning to think the 'raising an army' plan had been the simpler one all along. "Are you going to sleep soon?" they asked yet again. Jeritza, currently writing at the desk, jumped in his seat.

"No," he growled, as he had done all the previous times Byleth had asked.

"It's getting late." The sound of paper ripping.

"I am _aware_." Byleth shrugged and finally decided to submit to the siren song of the bedcovers. They had a nasty feeling they weren't going to outlast him tonight. Maybe tomorrow would bring better luck.

"Don't stay up too long," they said, nestling comfortably beneath the blankets, "or you'll fall asleep on your feet tomorrow. And my conscience says we should help out around the house-" A yawn cut their words off. "Lots of... physical exertion..." And then they were out. Yes. Maybe tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: we're now beginning to traverse into heavier themes of sexual harassment and assault, and will be continuing on this path for as long as the characters are in gautier. there's not going to be anything graphic enough to warrant an E rating, but I'm uncomfortable not giving fair warning. there's no shame in tapping out.

It had been surprisingly painless to convince the margrave to let his guests help with chores. And Jeritza, already drooping into his breakfast, seemed almost glad to be asked to clean floors, even as Byleth was poached for secretarial work. They would be more concerned he was planning to murder everyone while they were too tied up elsewhere to stop him, but he was apparently exhausted enough in the moment that he could barely use a spoon, let alone a sword.

They'd have to remember sleep deprivation for future tactical decisions. Surely this could be used elsewhere.

The margrave's study was every bit as claustrophobic as last time. Not helping was the margrave's insistence on... _clinging_ to them. They moved to the bookshelf to retrieve a record he asked for; the margrave followed. They went to add a log to the fire; their elbow caught on his shins as they stoked the flames. They turned away to examine the framed portraits on the wall; they felt the motion of the margrave twisting in his chair so he could keep watching them.

"Did you need something else?" Byleth sighed.

"Oh? So they speak after all." It sounded suspiciously like he didn't, but was going to demand something anyway. Reluctantly they turned back to face him. "You're quieter than I expected." They had no idea what about their reputation had made him expect different. "If I hadn't seen you fight yesterday, I'd have no idea what anyone sees in you." Ah, it seemed what he 'needed' was to insult someone and shirk his work.

"You should return to your bookkeeping, margrave," Byleth said. They returned to examining the paintings.

Behind them, the margrave stood. "Surely you have nothing against conversation, professor?" They shrugged.

"I thought you asked for my help because you had a lot of work to do."

"Oh, but I _do_ ," the margrave said airily, continuing to step away from his desk. "But usually I find company helps it all seem less dreary." There was something in his voice that seemed odd, that triggered the uncomfortable, sticky feeling that Byleth was missing something.

"...I can look over the numbers instead?" Was that what he wanted to hear?

Margrave Gautier laughed. "Oh, don't worry your little head about the numbers." He was close enough for Byleth to feel his body heat grazing the back of their neck. Instinctively they sidestepped, all but jumping out of the way of being trapped between the man and the wall. They may have no clue about what was going on here, but years of fighting experience at least taught them not to let someone pin them like that.

"Was there something you needed, margrave?" Byleth asked again. "Otherwise I'm sure I'd be of more use helping someone else."

It took unusually long for the margrave to face them again. But when he did he looked collected. "I suppose I can muddle through on my own from here." Sounded calm. "The maids could always use an extra hand with the laundry, don't you think?" Seemed normal, in the same way a silent mountain pass seemed normal right before an enemy ambush.

"I'll... do that, then," Byleth said, backing to the door, opening it, leaving.

They felt on edge even after the door clicked closed. They'd have to ask whether he was like that with _everyone_.

"That sounds like his usual posturing, yeah," chattered the maid (Elaine, she said her name was) as she handed Byleth another sopping wet pair of breeches to hang up to dry. Byleth hadn't seen a laundry room like this before, a fireplace on one wall and the ceiling strung back and forth with clotheslines, but they supposed nothing would dry properly outside in the cold Gautier air. "Sounds like you're not his type though, so I wouldn't worry."

"His type?"

"You'd know if you were, trust me." She paused to look Byleth up and down. "Yeah, he likes 'em way girlier than you. Whether you're safe from the _margravine_ on the other hand..." Her voice wobbled on the edge of a giggle. "Nah, you're all big and important outside here, right? She wouldn't bother with the scandal." Byleth didn't really know how to feel about the conversation, other than uncomfortable. Sure, they'd been told of the rumours about the Gautiers before being sent out here, they'd _taught_ the mess of a person that came out of here in Sylvain, and yet.

And yet they were still taken by surprise. It had felt so insubstantial when it was just words on a page, or hinted at and twisted until it was useless. "Does she eat her husband's bastards after all?" Because they didn't want to have to witness that in person.

Elaine laughed, loudly. "I thought you were new round here. How'd you hear that one already?" She handed over a wet shirt. Byleth couldn't help but note that wasn't a no. "What can you do though, huh? I'm not about to haul me and my family away from home because I couldn't put up with the odd wandering hand. If things've worked like this for generations, there's no reason to change it now." Byleth's hand slipped, dropping the peg they'd been holding to the floor. "I reckon that's what everyone wants, deep down. Just what you know, and what your parents knew, and what _their_ parents knew. You can lean back on it."

"Even when you don't think it's right?" Elaine laughed again, but didn't answer. The peg was still on the floor, silently judging them for still not picking it up. "If something's broken, you should fix it."

"C'mon professor, even the finest dress'll have a few loose threads." Yes, but if said dress kept trying to bed the servants, it probably wasn't worth keeping! "I bet you have the odd flaw here and there too!" Byleth would also elect to throw out a dress if it had killed as many people as they had.

This dress metaphor might be confusing the matter.

They sighed and bent down to collect the dropped peg. A crack ran the length of it where the impact had been too much for it; it looked like it'd have to be replaced soon.

A sudden scream echoed from within the house. 

Byleth took off towards the sound, out of the servants' quarters, through the tapestry laden corridors as other faces popped out from doorways and corners to move towards whatever was happening. A different shout now, directing Byleth to the parlour by the hunting tapestry, doorway blocked by a stray housemaid. The sight of the margravine bleeding out at the feet of the Death Knight was not quite obscured.

Oh dear.

Byleth pulled back.

The cracked peg lay accusingly on the laundry room floor, ignored as Byleth sprinted away. "Professor?!" Elaine called after them.

There were still living, human voices in the room when they approached this time, muffled by the walls to where any distinct words were lost, but they could still make out the margravine's tone. They'd heard that one from students plenty of times, a simpering proposition to raise a bad grade, set a certain other person as their adjutant for a battle, not tell Seteth they were out past curfew for the third night in a row.

Byleth's hand had barely grasped the door handle when the scream rang out this time. They threw the door open and barrelled through. The glint of a drawn blade; on reflexes and adrenaline Byleth leapt to tackle Jeritza before he could strike. "Get away from her!" They both crashed to the damp stone floor, Jeritza's sword sent skittering under an armchair. Whether from his surprise or his exhaustion, it was easy enough to pin Jeritza down and turn to check on the margravine. She was stock still, just watching Byleth trying to keep her would-be assailant from wriggling off.

There was something black dangling from her hand. A ribbon, it looked like? Byleth looked back at Jeritza. His hair splayed out wildly across the flagstones as he scrabbled towards his lost weapon. Byleth looked back at the margravine.

"Why do you have his hair ribbon?"

The stray housemaid from before (after?) had arrived looking frantic in the doorway.

The margravine opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before finally answering, "I grabbed it trying to pull the lout off me. I suppose I must have pulled it out entirely." Jeritza let out a huff underneath Byleth, and a vigorous jerk that threatened to unseat them.

"That's a very non-secure way to grapple someone. It would have been easier to hold onto his hair."

"Well how was I supposed to know that?!" snapped the margravine, unclasping her fist and letting the ribbon drift to the ground. She spun on her heel and marched away. "Really now! Do I look like a fighter to you?!" The maid in the doorway shot Byleth a pitying look before she scurried away too. Somehow Byleth got the feeling she wasn't leaving to summon reinforcements.

Jeritza wriggled under them again, drawing their attention back to him. "She's gone," Byleth said, easing back on their grapple. "And you're not supposed to kill me, so stand down." Jeritza barked a single harsh gasp of laughter.

"You demand I stand down?" he growled, gravelly and dangerous. "You cannot stop me from giving that _demon_ what she deserves!" The effect may have been more intimidating if he wasn't still sprawled on the floor, scrabbling under the furniture for his sword. "I will-" He cut himself off with a grunt of effort. "She will rue the day she dared-" A hiss of frustration this time as his fingers just brushed the hilt.

This was pitiful to watch.

"I'm going to get off you now, and if you try to attack Margravine Gautier, I will escape and you'll never get to fight me again." _That_ did something. Jeritza stilled for a moment. Then slowly twisted his head to look up at Byleth, loose hair obscuring most of his face.

"I will simply chase you down."

"I'll just jump into a ravine and disappear for another five years." They certainly _hoped_ that one was repeatable. Jeritza's mouth drew taut, eyes narrowing in consideration. But then he went limp, face slackening in surrender. Probably.

Cautiously Byleth pushed themself off him. Took a step back. Took another step back. Jeritza remained where he was, his only movement briefly shaking hair out of his eyes. Battle complete? Battle complete.

With a sigh of relief, Byleth walked over to where the black hair ribbon had fallen. The fabric was unpleasantly moist, the floor here clearly washed very recently. The margravine's words still weren't sitting right. When Byleth had barged in, it certainly hadn't _looked_ like the middle of a fight: more the beginning of one. And she'd been so very defensive about it, too. Byleth was sure they'd asked an innocent question about the ribbon.

Someone thundered past them while they were still crouched there in the parlour, out through the open door. Sothis _damn_ that man. "What did I _just_ tell you?!" they shouted after him, breaking into a run for the too many-th time that day. He was making for the stairs up, running down the second floor corridor, slamming the door of the guest suite shut-

Byleth almost toppled over trying to stop their momentum. Why on earth had he come back here?

There was an ungodly shriek of wood against wood on the otherside of the door, and when Byleth tried the handle, the door didn't budge. They tried pushing a bit harder. Still nothing. There weren't any other exits from in there, were there? 

Byleth tried pressing their ear up against the door, straining to hear what Jeritza might be doing in there, but they were met only with the noise of heavy (but steady) breathing.

Well, it didn't _sound_ like he was killing anyone in there, so Byleth assumed they could leave him be for now. Hopefully.

Jeritza didn't come out of the room for dinner, and Byleth was left alone with the margrave and margravine. Neither brought up what had happened with each of them earlier in the day. Neither brought up anything at all, fact. The scraping of cutlery on crockery was swallowed up by the tapestries, and no one thought it was strange.

The door to the guest room opened when Byleth tried it again. The desk, presumably what had been blocking the door earlier, was a few feet off from where it had been before, and Jeritza was sitting at it writing. Byleth walked over and took his hair ribbon from their pocket. They silently laid it next to his hand and waited. He paused in his writing for a moment to look at it, and then at Byleth. He looked even more tired than he had that morning, as if he'd collected whatever energy he'd had left into attacking the margravine and now had simply... stopped. If they struck now, they wondered if he'd be able to fight back at all.

They wondered if the confusing knot in their gut was why tactics manuals never taught this method of warfare.

Jeritza turned back to whatever he was writing tonight. And Byleth just watched.

"I can't focus on my report with you staring at me." Byleth politely averted their admittedly piercing stare to his report instead. They weren't sure why they were surprised by the neatness of Jeritza's handwriting; he had managed to get hired as an instructor at the Officer's Academy before. Then again, so had Byleth, so maybe they just had much lower standards than everyone insisted.

Jeritza sighed. "If you have something to say, come out and say it."

"It's hard to read upside down," they said idly, still staring at his handwriting. Jeritza abruptly slammed his free hand over the top of the paper. "Ah, you'll smudge the ink like that."

"...I tire of this game," he snarled. "Will you not hurry and come for my life so we can _end_ this?" The knot in their gut twisted again.

"Why don't _you_?" Byleth returned. "If you wish to kill me so badly, why not ignore the Emperor and do it?" Jeritza sat his pen down with a frustrated growl and sat up to glare at Byleth fully.

" _I_ do not wish to kill you."

"So someone _else_ has been challenging me to duels to the death whenever we've met in the past?" Byleth had certainly never seen him avoid lethal force on the battlefield. The phantom pain of blows they never truly took were enough of a reminder of that.

Jeritza halted, mouth open, before shaking his head and picking up his pen again. "It is of no consequence to you." Strange... He looked like he'd been about to say 'yes'. But his identity was common knowledge now. Putting on a helmet didn't change anything. Whoever was inside was outside too. And inside... _Oh_ , hold on.

"You have someone living in your head too-" A physical sense of _wrongness_ tore through Byleth's chest, crumpling them like paper. That was supposed to be a _secret_ , no matter if it caught the attention of Jeritza.

Time snapped back like a cut string.

Jeritza began to write his report again as Byleth caught their breath. That was... unpleasant. They far preferred when Sothis was around to use her words. But they tried again, "Is it like how the goddess talks to me?" They were fairly sure that was the assumption making the rounds.

Jeritza huffed, mouth smirking just a touch. "Does your goddess demand you _kill_? That you tear the bodies left behind apart until even the crows won't touch them?"

"Mostly she stops me sleeping in in the mornings." A pause, as Jeritza examined them, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That is... credible." Huh. Somehow Byleth thought he'd assume they were joking. "But it is irrelevant after all," he continued, sounding almost _disappointed_.

Well, knowing all that was making them feel even worse about killing him while incapacitated. All after writing off their reaction to meeting former students on the battlefield as an isolated phenomenon. They missed those halcyon days before they knew what guilt felt like.

Pushing away from the desk, Byleth took to pacing. They should kill him now. They'd kill him and then tell the margrave what had really happened and they'd get sent on their merry way back to Garreg Mach, leaving everything here behind them. Except the guilt, most likely. They hadn't found a way to get rid of that yet, and they had to admit it was starting to build up terribly.

Byleth reached the wall and turned tail. At the same time, if they left now... The conversation they'd had over laundry that afternoon was bouncing around their head. If they killed the Death Knight _now_ then they'd have to go straight back to the frontlines, and who knew when they'd have a chance to come back and fix things? They _wanted_ to fix things amongst these people; they were a teacher, last they checked. And in front of them sat a perfect opportunity. An opportunity that fighting a war wasn't going to fix. Fighting a war that...

Maybe they'd put thoughts of the war aside for now. They could suffer those another time.

They came to a stop back by the desk. "You should know," they said to the man still sat there, "that I'm changing my goals." A hesitant glance upwards through unruly hair. "I think I want to stay here for some time after all. So I'm not actually at odds with the Empire right now." They took a deep breath and shifted awkwardly on their feet. "And I can't justify staying if leaving is an option so..."

"You're leaving me alive as an excuse?" Byleth nodded with a sigh of relief. He didn't need to know about the guilt part of the equation. Jeritza looked vacantly forwards for a moment. Then he scrunched up the paper he'd been writing on and hurled it into the fireplace. Byleth watched as the flames consumed it.

"Why did you do that?" they asked. Jeritza had pulled out a fresh sheet of paper from a desk drawer and was writing again.

"I needed to rework my report." Byleth tilted their head, but Jeritza didn't offer anything else.

They spent yet another night drifting off to sleep to the scratch of pen on paper.


	9. Chapter 9

"You woke up before me." Byleth looked up from their breakfast at seemingly the only person bothering to join them this morning.

"Didn't I tell you yesterday-" They cut themself off, rifling through their memories to double check which version of last night they'd left intact. "Yes, I told you that the goddess doesn't let me sleep in." Jeritza frowned and sat down at the place setting opposite them.

"You left me sleeping," he said, voice hesitant and cracking.

"I had no reason to wake you up," Byleth replied. "You looked comfy." They shoved the last of their bread and jam into their mouth.

Jeritza sighed. "You forgot killing me in my sleep was an option again." They didn't _forget_ in the first place!

"I thought I made it clear I don't want to kill you right now."

"And you weren't lying to lower my guard?"

"No." Jeritza squinted at them suspiciously, but eventually looked away and muttered,

"You're too flighty."

"I'm not flighty; you're just rigid." They downed the dregs of their tea and stood. "I'm going to talk to the margrave and margravine today, so stay out of their way. I don't want either of them in a bad mood."

"I have no intention of running from a fight should I be affronted."

"Then walk from it instead," said Byleth, walking out to search for their first new 'student'.

No one seemed to know where the margravine had holed herself up, but the margrave was predictably in his study. He almost looked like he was doing some real work when Byleth walked in.

"Margrave Gautier, I believe we need to talk." It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the role of professor, no matter how many years it had been since they'd reprimanded someone like this. Gautier grunted and sat upright, all to happy to abandon his records.

"Come to apologise, have you-"

"I was severely disappointed with your conduct yesterday, along with your poor work ethic." Byleth paused, registering what they'd spoken over. "You thought _I_ was the one who needed to apologise?" They had just been trying to help him out, and he tried to pin them to a wall for their efforts!

The margrave huffed darkly, already drawing up and out of his chair to loom at his full height. "You have some nerve talking down to me in my own house, professor. Really, did no one ever teach you any manners?"

"I'm self taught," they said stubbornly. "But even I know it's considered rude to intimidate people, like you're trying to again right now. If you would like a refresher course on etiquette, I would be happy to teach you." Margrave Gautier let out a chuckle, then a guffaw, then a full bodied laugh.

" _Saints_ , you just don't know when to stop, do you?" His face was set somewhere between cold and angry. "Let me set something straight, _professor_. I am the margrave of Gautier, defender of the northern border. I answer only to the king and the goddess her bloody self, and I do not take orders from mere commoners." He moved ever closer, looking down his nose at Byleth more and more. Byleth stood their ground this time. "You may think you _earned_ your place in Faerghus' army with your little lost crest, but I assure you, there's no shortage of bastards who bear their own." The margrave was close enough now that his breath was palpable over their skin. "And I assure you, I've dealt with many a bastard in my time." Byleth couldn't be certain what made them shiver, the words or how they whispered into their ear. But they would stand their ground once more.

"And how do you think Dimitri would react to finding out you're threatening me?" Their prediction involved a lot of blood, his fresh start be damned.

"King Dimitri doesn't know you're here, now does he?" Gautier sneered. "After all, ever since you stumbled in here, every one of my messengers has turned up dead!" Byleth frowned.

"If they keep dying, you should stop sending them out." They'd have to add that to their lesson plan too. "Now, if you'd like to take a seat, we can start this conversation over and I'll point out to you where you're going wrong."

The margrave laughed again, a shade more hysterical. "It's as if you _want_ to be left to sleep in the stables! Your final warning, professor; it's unwise to bite the hand that feeds you." Byleth folded their arms crossly, body bubbling with irritation.

"I don't understand why you're so set on refusing my help."

"I do not _need_ your help, and you're a right little-"

"But you could still become _better_ if you let me help! Don't you want to be better?" Byleth was unfocussed enough that the punch aimed at their head nearly actually landed. "No doubt you already know how rude that is."

"I sure as damn well do!" Gautier yelled. Well, this reaction was less than ideal.

"Was the stable threat genuine?" they asked calmly.

"What made you think it wasn't?"

"...I see." No thank you.

Byleth pulled time back.

"It's unwise to bite the hand that feeds you," finished off the margrave. Byleth settled into themself to think. They really weren't sure they could win from this position; the margrave just wasn't open to criticism, and they didn't know how to change that. They'd have to retreat and rethink their strategy.

"Very well," Byleth said blandly, turning on their heel. "Have a nice day." They could feel the margrave's glare on their back long after they'd left the study.

They'd eventually overheard some of the other servants complaining that the margravine had locked herself in her chambers and wasn't letting anyone bring fresh clothes in. So that was where Byleth was headed next in their vague quest to fix things.

No one responded after a few raps on the door of the master bedroom. Byleth tried a couple more. "Margravine Gautier? It's me." Silence. Maybe if they knocked on the door just a _bit_ more there would-

"Are you alone, professor?" said the margravine, voice muffled through the heavy wood of the door. Were they alone..? Byleth looked up and down the corridor, double checking.

"Yes."

"Well, what do you want?" They couldn't make out the sound of footsteps from inside the bedroom. Seemed like this would be a Closed Door sort of conversation.

This was fine. This was fine and not threatening to bring back any memories at all. After all, if Byleth refused to acknowledge them, they didn't exist.

"I wanted to know what happened yesterday between you and Jerry."

"You refer to when he _attacked_ me? You were _there_ , professor."

"Not for the beginning."

"There was no beginning," Margravine Gautier said, rather too quickly. "Your little friend simply lunged at me without warning." Well, that wasn't _totally_ unbelievable...

"When you were talking to him beforehand, what did you say? There may have been something that set him off."

There was a long pause. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said primly.

"I heard you talking right before you screamed. I couldn't make out any words because there was a wall in the way."

"Well, you heard wrong." Byleth frowned.

"My hearing is normally very good." And they were fairly confident they wouldn't confuse the voices of the margravine and Jeritza.

"Are you calling me a liar, professor?"

"I wouldn't know about habitually, but I don't think you're telling me the truth right now." There was no response for quite some time. "Margravine Gautier?" Still nothing. Seemed the Closed Door had expanded into the realm of metaphor.

Byleth really didn't want to accept Sylvain as being the most emotionally mature one in this family, but the possibility was fast looming on the horizon.

The air in the training yard was cold and biting, perfect for cooling their head after such an unproductive morning. It wasn't quite empty out here, Jeritza battering a wooden training dummy with a lance. Byleth went to lean on the ring fence, letting their eyes track the rhythmic motions of his training, the sound of scuffling feet and grunts of effort washing over them. Yes, this was far more enjoyable than slamming themself into the figurative brick walls of the people who lived here.

They barely flinched out of the way of a (by now familiar) sword hurtling towards them. The thrown blade clattered to the grown a ways behind them, to the visible disappointment of Jeritza. It took but a moment for him to recover and say flatly, "Duel me." Equal parts willing and bewildered, Byleth trudged over to retrieve the sword.

"If that had hit me, I wouldn't have been able to fight you, you know." Turning it over a few times, they inspected the hilt. Nothing appeared to have been damaged by its brief stint as a projectile.

"...I thought you would catch it," Jeritza admitted. Byleth looked up to see him shifting on his feet sheepishly.

"You threw it blade-first," Byleth said. "I can't-" They cut themself off. Thinking about it, they might be able to grab it out of the air if they gripped the centre of the flat and kept their palms well away from the edge. Of course, getting that down would be time consuming and worthless outside of winning bets at taverns...

Byleth entered the training ring and pushed the sword back into Jeritza's hands. "Throw it again. I want another try."

They didn't think they'd seen Jeritza really smile before.

Their next attempt was an abject failure, the meat of their right hand slicing clean through until they pulled back time to the instant before; it whizzed past their outstretched hand and thudded into the dirt.

"You hesitated," Jeritza said as they bent to pick it up. Byleth grimaced.

"I just timed it wrong." As they handed the sword over again for another try, Jeritza shook his head insistently.

"Your hand... It stopped mid-arc." Byleth paused. Sure, it was inevitable that things like that would happen while they were skipping through different versions of time, but no one had mentioned it before. "I have noticed it when we battle one another, also. You change direction suddenly, stutter into your next strike." His voice was devolving into an almost dreamy tone. "It makes it so exhilarating to fight against you."

Byleth wasn't comfortable with this. With the things they'd held secret rising so close to the surface that surely Jeritza could see the shadows swimming about. "Maybe we should get on and spar," they suggested. Let the fluid, predictable movements of training cover everything up. It took a moment for disappointment and happiness to war across Jeritza's face before he gave them back the sword (without throwing it). "Back to centre at first blood."

The stress of the day slaked off of them with each sword swing like a guttering candle dripped wax. Simple forms, simple footwork, the simple goal of stabbing their opponent, and not an ounce of diplomacy in sight to worry about.

Not that these things ever lasted.

"I thought you would be with the margrave and margravine for longer," Jeritza said in a way that was almost downright conversational. Byleth found their mouth twisting into a scowl.

"They're annoying."

"Hmph." They couldn't tell whether his response was deriding or amused.

"The margravine won't even talk to me for more than a moment..." Well, they supposed there were ways around that. "You were there too yesterday." Jeritza fumbled his block, letting Byleth close enough to tear the shoulder seam of his uniform. "What was the margravine talking about before I came in?" Jeritza leapt back to put distance between them and give his lance an advantage.

Apparently cottoning on to the fact that Byleth was unlikely to let this go, Jeritza sighed and said, "I... don't remember."

Great.

"Not even a general idea?"

"It..." Distracted as he was, Byleth had managed to force him back against the fence. "My memory is... clouded after she came in. Until you were sitting on me."

"Do you remember her pulling out your ribbon?" Jeritza rolled out of the way of their final strike, turning them both round so that Byleth now had their back to the fence.

"Not clearly." A lunge, and Byleth neatly sidestepped, slipping back to reverse their positions once more.

"Does that happen a lot to you?" they asked. "Not remembering things?"

"Only when..." he started, before shaking his head and dashing past them to the centre of the ring.

"When what?" they asked, insistent. "If you forget things a lot, maybe you should see a healer about it. You could have a head injury." They'd heard tales of people hitting their heads and forgetting even their own name! Granted, Jeritza did at least seem to remember that, but it didn't prove much.

"Healers cannot help me," he muttered ominously. "They would need his cooperation."

Byleth tilted their head in confusion. He'd spoken quietly enough that they weren't sure he was still talking to them. "Is this about that voice in your head that tells you to kill? Would it even tell you to kill a healer?" Jeritza was silent for a good long while, eyes focussed beyond where the two of them fought.

"Perhaps it would do no harm to tell you... I am not always in control." Byleth nodded.

"I know; I've had to fight you on the field before." And had to talk him down altogether too many times since they arrived in Gautier. Way too ready to kill everyone in the vicinity to be called 'in control'.

"You have fought the Death Knight."

"Yes." They supposed they could have fought some other horseman with a scary horned helmet and a scythe, but it didn't seem particularly likely.

"The Death Knight is... He is me, but he is not me. He lives within me, lives off me. I have no doubt that someday he will bleed into me so thoroughly that I will cease to exist as more than a shell for him." It was hard for Byleth to decipher his voice, to pick apart his slow, deep words to find what emotions lay beneath. They couldn't get further than 'numb'.

"And the Death Knight is why you forget things?" Byleth asked, not really knowing what else to say. Was this the sort of thing you gave your condolences for? A conciliatory pat on the back?

"When he is the one in control, it is he who remembers."

"Oh, then could I-"

"He won't tell you what occurred yesterday. He doesn't approve of you you." Byleth drooped. They never thought they'd be sad that the Death Knight didn't want to be friends. Truly, their feelings had taken on a life of their own these days.

They sparred in silence after that, neither able to draw blood but neither truly trying either. The wind picked up as it neared noon. Byleth called for a stop after Jeritza pushed his fringe behind his ears for the fifth time that minute, only for the hair to be blown right back and continue its mission to flick him in the eyes.

"Do you need a hand tying your hair back tighter?" they asked, already letting their sword arm drop and walking towards him.

"It is unimportant," Jeritza insisted. He was instantly undermined by an errant gust of wind to blow his fringe directly into his open mouth.

"Very windy for summer," Byleth noted idly as they watched him scrabble to get his now spit-damp hair out of the way. How amazing that one of the Empire's most feared generals was housed in this picture of a losing battle against the elements; face screwed up in annoyance, body shaking with frustration... Or...

Now they thought about it, the wind really didn't help the already cool temperature out here. And they wouldn't put it past Jeritza to have been here since breakfast.

"Are you cold?" Jeritza snapped his head to look at them.

He took a moment to rove his gaze back and forth over them. "No doubt it will pass, if you're so unaffected." Relying on Byleth's reactions to see if he was personally uncomfortable or not seemed like a poor way of things. After all,

"I don't get cold." That struck Jeritza into another moment of silence.

"If only we were dealing with the Adrestian summer instead," he muttered bitterly aside. Byleth tilted their head.

"I don't really get hot either," they said, thinking back to the scorching heat of Ailell. They'd noticed when their metal weapons had burned their skin, of course, and they hadn't fancied their chances with the more molten areas of rock, but they weren't left panting and nearing collapse like so many of their students were. Then again, some of those students _had_ been stubbornly wearing furs still. When they got back, they should schedule a lecture about adapting to the local weather conditions-

Their thoughts scattered as they felt their sword be tugged from their grasp. "Oh, right, we should go inside."

"You don't have to come with me," Jeritza said, returning the sword to its scabbard. He was really saying that while taking the weapon Byleth was using with him?

Byleth accompanied him regardless, back to the familiar security of the guest room. The fireplace had long reduced itself to ash, but it didn't take too long for Byleth to stack a few fresh logs and set some tinder. 

"...What does being cold feel like?" they asked as the first flames devoured the kindling. From the bed Jeritza made a grunt of confusion; glancing over, he was currently sitting swaddled one of the blankets. "Is it more than being aware of the temperature all the time?" Jeritza looked thoughtful, picking at the stitching on a part of the blanket's hem.

"It is... as if your body is too small for you," he said quietly. "As if it is shrinking away from you and won't let you in."

Byleth stared back at the fireplace, the flames already beginning to lick at the logs and sending flickers of burning light into their eyes. "What about feeling hot?"

He was quicker with that one. "It feels like your skin has filled itself with water, and is too large and heavy to move in." Hm, Byleth supposed that made sense with what they'd observed. "Are there... other things you do not feel?" Byleth sat back on their hands, twisting to face Jeritza better.

"I don't know how many," they admitted, because how could they? "But I lay unconscious in a river for five years and was fine, so maybe I don't need anything more." They stared into the fire once more, letting the heat sink into their face. They could focus on that sensation, imagine it spreading and weighing down their limbs like too many coats. It was a distracting _something_ where the rest of them _wasn't_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for how slow updates are at the moment ^_^; did you know medication to combat nausea has drowsiness and dizziness as a common side effect? because I do now! :):):)
> 
> thankfully, things are moving in A direction, but bc of how terrible my government is at handling anything, it may take several months before I'm working at full capacity again. ah well, at least I'm learning to be more patient bc of this. probably.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like an optimistic fool, I came home from a chiropractors a couple of weeks back and went "ah! I will now be able to sit at my desk!"  
> well joke's on me, a week's rest later I tried sitting up for a good portion of the day while sucked into some creative projects and nope. nope my lower back is crunchy as ever and I'm gonna need to go in for a second appointment. the joys of living, huh -_-

“The pair of you will be accompanying me and my men on tomorrow's search.” Byleth looked up from their dinner at the margrave's words. The margravine was still refusing to come out of her room, so there were only three of them that evening. “We'll be sweeping the area from here to Gautier's southern border to find those damnable mages you've talked about, and then you can leave.” He'd trailed into a snarl by the end of his sentence; evidently his goodwill had not recovered since the morning. Byleth suspected his goodwill wouldn't recover this side of the new year.

“How long will we be out there?” they asked.

“I wouldn't trust Lucia to run anything for longer than a week,” the margrave said with a snort. “I'll be sure our campaign takes no longer than that.” Byleth couldn't honestly say they trusted the margravine with any sort of internal affairs either, but somewhere inside them was a little niggling urge to disagree with whatever sentiment the margrave came out with, just on principle.

They hadn't properly disliked anyone who hadn't killed or tried to kill someone they cared about before. This was certainly novel.

A servant banged on the door at the crack of dawn to wake them up. It was a beautiful day, according to the odd bit of chatter they overheard as they were led out to the training yard to kit up.

Translated from the excessively optimistic Gautier dialect, this meant it was bitterly cold and windy, but now with the sun beating into your eyes from every possible angle. Byleth could only pray they could beg a hat off of someone at some point.

The gaggle of soldiers the margrave had managed to gather... hadn't been what Byleth was expecting. After months of commanding organised battalions of war-hardened warriors, they felt cartoonishly outsized among this scruffy group of those too young or too old to fight on the frontline. It made sense, they had to remind themself. Gautier had been at war longer than they were able to remember. Just because they hadn't been around to see how many people had left their homes behind to fight didn't make those homes less empty.

They were taken by surprise by a boy at their side tapping them on the shoulder and pushing a rucksack at them. He was small enough that Byleth had to crane their neck around the sack to thank him before he ran off. Not that they felt particularly thankful; the pack was far heavier than anything they'd normally bring with them on a mission. Presumably, the obscene weight was why so few others were being burdened with them. (That number did include Jeritza, however, much to the glee of the pit of spite in their stomach.)

Eventually the margrave emerged, riding proud and imposing upon an absolute monster of a horse, both decked extravagantly in carefully polished platemail. Byleth had to admit, the figure he cut up there invited respect, if only by being the largest, shiniest thing around for at least a couple of leagues. And indeed, the soldiers in the yard fell silent, heads and bodies turning to await command.

His voice rang clearly, “We break at noon and set camp at sunset. Stop marching at any other time and you will be left behind to fend for yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

An unruly chorus of “yes, sir!”s and “certainly milord!”s rose up from around them. Margrave Gautier didn't deign any of them with acknowledgement before nudging his horse into a walk and leading them onwards.

Byleth quickly found themself in the thick of the group as soldiers drifted towards them, eyeing them surreptitiously. How many of them knew who they were and how many just saw an outsider and were curious, they didn't know. Though they couldn't help but notice whenever they looked back to check on Jeritza, _he_ wasn't getting crowded! As they almost tripped on the person in front's heel _again_ , Byleth found themself missing other people finding them off-putting, as it had been when they were younger.

Then again, maybe the looks these strangers gave them were no different from those they received back then. Maybe they were simply aware enough to hate it now. And the way they were going to square both needing to know and needing to not, was going to be by ignoring it and thinking of _literally_ anything else. They would make it work eventually. What was the point of being able to do impossible things if they couldn't?

The ground remained as uncomfortable to march across as it had been when Byleth had had to last. The other soldiers didn't seem to mind, though, and the margrave's horse somehow kept pace over the rugged terrain flawlessly. Clearly they were made of sterner stuff up here in Gautier.

Meanwhile, the search for the caravan of dark mages that had never existed was going surprisingly fruitfully. The farmer someone had spotted on a nearby road with a wagon full of carrots had not, in fact, been a dark mage, but he _had_ parted with a significant number of carrots to get the margrave's attention off of him. So now they had carrots.

By the time the margrave held his hand aloft and announced they would stop to eat, they had also managed to investigate for dark magic: an abandoned wheelbarrow (no trace of carrying anything nefarious), a stubby tree that had looked like a person from a distance (magical interference quickly ruled out as a factor of its strange shape in favour of the wind), and a trio of runaway sheep (they were sheep). So even though most people present were under the impression they could run into a band of dark bishops ready to kill them at any moment, the atmosphere was upbeat. Soldiers joked with each other over their rations of cheese and cured meat, showed off flashy knife tricks they couldn't get quite right, fed carrots to the sheep they'd let tag along with them once they were sure it wouldn't cast Miasma on them when their backs were turned. It was lively, and happy, and made warmth bloom in Byleth's chest to watch it all.

Or at least, it did until they remembered this was all one big lie. The warmth curdled, the jerky they'd been eating tasting like ash in their mouth. None of these people should be out here. It was time for the harvest, wasn't it? Surely they should be helping _there_. Not sitting around out here wasting their time and carrots.

...Byleth tore their eyes away from the sheep. Its adorable fluffy body wasn't making them feel any better.

No sooner had they faced back forwards, a barely touched bundle of jerky was thrust before them. They traced the hand holding it back up and stared down Jeritza. (Ah yes. Because they'd brought the Death Knight here too. And they didn't rightly how many here now would die in a fight.)

“It's too spicy,” Jeritza said flatly. Byleth swallowed their remaining mouthful, now unpleasantly soft and mushy from chewing too long.

“But it's not spicy.” At best it was peppery.

Jeritza didn't seem particularly pleased with that reply. He jostled the outstretched jerky. “Take it.” Mentally shrugging, Byleth obliged. Food was food.

“Strange that you don't like spicy food,” Byleth said idly, hands now both impractically full of jerky. “You always seemed like you'd have a more mature palette.”

“There's nothing mature about wanting your food to burn your tongue,” Jeritza shot back grumpily.

Byleth nodded sagely. “You get scared when your food can fight back.” Like they expected, Jeritza's face twisted into a harsh glare. _Un_ like they expected, he then snatched back his jerky and took a determined bite of it, holding eye contact as he chewed.

Right up until his eyes started watering and he doubled over retching.

“It's okay,” Byleth said serenely, bending down next to him and patting him on the shoulder. “Different people are good at different things.”

“Don't patronise me.”

Twilight trickled in at last, and they were ordered to set up camp. A central fire was set up, tents erected, bed rolls laid out. It was impossible not to be swept up in the bustle of activity.

Well, impossible for Byleth, at any rate. Whenever they looked up from the tasks they flicked back and forth through, they managed to catch sight of Margrave Gautier standing around idle. Watching sternly. Doing nothing. Byleth had half a mind to go over and drag him into being useful when they were interrupted by a tug on their sleeve.

“Can you come help with food prep?” asked a young man, looking unhealthily tired and washed out even for the dimming light. “Nat's getting precious about the sheep.”

“That sheep could've been used for _clothes_ , Jan!” came a shout from off near the fire. Jan turned to should back,

“Keep someone warm in the future, or keep us fed in the now! Doesn't matter either way!”

“We _have_ rations already!” Jan sighed as he trounced over, Byleth trotting after him.

“You wanna have stew with just ham and cheese, huh? Just ham and cheese in a pot?”

“We could put the carrots in too.”

“Don't you know? Those carrots could've been used to fertilise a field!” Apparently they were now in range for Nat to throw a carrot top square at Jan's face. “Real mature, Nat.”

“Oh piss off.” As she shifted her attention to Byleth, they finally got a good look at Nat. She was a similarly scrawny young woman, hair thin and eyes sunken to match Jan's. They were going to file that away under either possible siblings or possible widespread starvation in Gautier territory. They hadn't had much of a chance to see outside the main castle yet to check. “Ain't you that general we were supposed to be helping?”

“Wait, seriously?” Jan exclaimed, taking a step back in shock. “S-sorry, I didn't mean to assume you weren't-”

“Professor Byleth,” Byleth said blandly. “Nice to meet you.” Was this a handshake situation? They couldn't tell if this was a handshake situation. They looked around at the ground around them, currently covered with unchopped carrots and a dead sheep. “Do you have a spare knife?”

Jan's eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head as Nat reluctantly handed over a double edged knife. It wasn't the ideal size, but it seemed sharp enough to do the job. “I'm sorry!” he whimpered, stumbling to his knees as Byleth turned to the sheep.

“It's okay,” they said, eyeing up the carcass before making their first slit in the skin. “As long as one of you had a knife.” The pair behind them were being very quiet all of a sudden. Byleth turned round to check on them. They were just... staring at them. “Did I say something strange?”

“You're... fine helping out?” Nat said, hesitant.

“Yes..?” They wanted to eat too. It only made sense to help with the cooking.

“I thought you were...” Nat trailed off and shared a worried look with Jan. “This isn't a trick, is it? You're not gonna go back to the margrave and have him string us up for not respecting our superiors or something?”

“...Would the margrave really do that?” They hadn't read any rumours like _that_ in the overview the Empire gave them. Jan and Nat were sharing glances again.

“Well,” said Jan quietly, “y'see, our da, he used to help guard the border, keep those Sreng lot out. Margrave'd go up and check on the outposts every now and then, but mostly it's just normal folk. Well, one time a Srengi kid got lost and wandered down into Gautier. Just some shepherd or something, but our da and his group picked him up.

“Well, they were gonna just let him go, 'cause y'know, just a kid. But the margrave was up there that time, and _he_ wanted to use the kid as an example-”

“By killing him?” asked Byleth. Jan and Nat nodded.

“Da didn't want to,” Nat picked up. “Kid couldn't've been much older than us two were at the time. Wasn't exactly about to launch an invasion.” She chuckled, short and grim. “So while everyone else was off eating, he freed the kid and let him run off home.” She stopped. Grimaced at the knife in her hand. “Margrave was furious, apparently. Executed him then and there. Didn't even send the body back home to the rest of us.” Nat paused, and spared a look towards the sheep, dark blood slowly spreading across its white coat. “You know, I've heard it said,” she continued, voice now barely above a whisper, “Sreng folk are so barbaric they just leave their dead out in the open for animals to pick at. I wonder who that's really about sometimes. I don't think many bodies at the border are ones left by them.”

With a hefty sigh she turned back to her carrots. “What can you do though, right? Border work pays better than anything else round here. Gotta do that sorta thing if you want to eat better than turnips half the year.”

“I'll be old enough to go out there soon,” Jan said lightly, crouching down next to his sister and grabbing an extra knife. “I might give it a go.”

“You'll get knocked over the first time the wind blows on the steppe,” Nat shot back. Jan flicked a shred of carrot at her. The firelight continued to flicker nearby, and the blood continued to dye the sheep's coat red.

Byleth's body thrummed with excitement as they scooped a portion of stew into their bowl and grabbed a spoon. They couldn't physically remember the last time they had mutton; Garreg Mach didn't tend to serve it. Hopefully it was tasty.

Searching around for a place to sit, their eye caught on Jeritza. He wasn't alone. An older man was sitting slouched beside him, leant towards him with a serious expression on his face. As Byleth moved closer they could just make out the man saying, “-nd that's not on you, got it?” Jeritza grunted. “We all deal with her in our own ways, but if you need to talk about it, find me and I'll be-” The man stopped, noticing Byleth's arrival. His gaze flicked down to the bowl Byleth was holding, then past them, to the fire. “Ah, I better get something to eat before it's all gone.” He got to his feet with a wince, not before giving Jeritza a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Remember what I said, yeah?” Jeritza grunted again. “Good talking to you, Jerry.”

The pair of them watched him totter off.

Byleth sat down on the other side of Jeritza. “You're making friends,” they commented. In their peripheral vision, Jeritza's head slumped down.

“The people here seem... unafraid of me.”

“They must've seen what you were like at lunch.” They didn't need to look to know Jeritza had turned to glare at them.

“It is no matter,” he said after a pause, voice halfway into a sigh. “If they insist on getting close, he'll only kill them.” It took a moment for Byleth to parse his words.

“The not-you?” they checked softly. Jeritza made a quiet noise of agreement. “I won't let him harm anyone here.” Jeritza's expression had changed again, eyebrows drawn. They weren't sure why, this time.

But they'd gotten distracted from their true goal. They gazed down at their stew, let the savoury smell of it waft into their nose. A hearty chunk of meat on their spoon, they took their first bite.

Oh.

Mutton was terrible, actually.

What a waste of a sheep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, 11 chapters in and we've got one that was entirely unplanned, not in the blueprints at all. that... actually took longer than usual for me. huh.

The weather was holding up nicely, and as they stopped for the second night, the margrave mentioned they'd arrived at the border to Fraldarius sooner than anticipated. Byleth couldn't say they would've noticed it otherwise, considering it was no more elaborate than a scrubby hedge. It didn't exactly stand out.

Not that that stopped some of the others' excited murmurs, that they'd never been as far away from home as this. It took a moment for Byleth to recall that, despite who they'd encountered over the years, most people were neither mercenaries, nor sent to a boarding school halfway across the continent. They were the outlier here.

“If only it wasn't so dry,” Margrave Gautier suddenly said from beside them before they had a chance to start helping set up camp. His horse was already off being tied to a tent peg by a man who had far too many grey hairs to be on the march like this. “There's no mud for those dastards to leave obvious tracks.” Oh, yes. The fictional mages. Their party had seen absolutely nothing of note today. Byleth was really starting to wonder if the margrave would see through this cover story and confront them about it. And if _that_ happened, they didn't know how they'd reduce the death rate from the Death Knight stepping in. For all the margrave's flaws, yet another one was that he was _not equipped to deal with that situation_. “If only you'd gone missing in winter instead. This whole debacle would be far easier to deal with.” Oh, he was still talking. Ostensibly to them. Okay. “But I suppose having a few extra days away from the wife isn't such a bad thing, eh, professor?” Byleth didn't have a response beyond blinking silently. That didn't sound right, but then again, they weren't married.

When the silence stretched into discomfort, the margrave tutted irritably and looked away. “Anyway, we'll be headed east along the border tomorrow. With any luck we'll find traces that our quarry's crossed over somewhere back into Fraldarius and they can deal with it instead.” Byleth frowned.

“We won't chase after them?” The margrave crossed his arms and looked at them like they'd said something stupid.

“Gautier's duty to Faerghus is to keep Sreng out, not to deal with every stray sorcerer that tears through the countryside.”

“But since we're already here in force, and Fraldarius is likely still reeling from the loss of its lord-”

“Rodrigue left a perfectly good heir behind,” Gautier said blithely. He stepped closer, now looking down his nose at Byleth. “Or are you telling me you managed to get him killed the instant he became irreplaceable?” Byleth bit back a sigh of frustration.

“It's not about whether he's _there_ or not, it's just that Felix-” They cut themself off. How to frame it without the margrave assuming they were insulting an ally? Since, well, 'I barely trust him to lead a battalion, let alone a territory' _did_ sound a lot like an insult. They clasped their hands together and avoided all eye contact. “He has a lot going on. Right now. With the war he's fighting in.” And probably looking for them-

They were cutting that line of thought there. Teach margrave to be a better leader now, feel bad about lying later.

“Surely,” Byleth said, “it would set a good example to the new lord if we were to aid him now. To keep up friendly relations.” The margrave continued to stare down at them.

Finally, “I will send a messenger to warn him.” Byleth exhaled. Baby steps, but steps nonethe-

“Wait, no!” they exclaimed, hands flying up. “All the other ones died!” _Please_ could this man stop sending people to needless deaths?!

“Then this one's body will send a handy warning that there's a bunch of killers on the prowl, now won't it?”

Byleth's anger was getting in the way of formulating a proper come back to that.

“Glad to see you've seen sense, professor,” said Margrave Gautier, turning on his heel and wandering off.

“I won't agree to this!” Damn this stupidly tall man and damn his stupidly long stride; Byleth had to break into a jog to keep up. “I won't let you send one of these people out to die like this.”

“You could always do it yourself, professor,” he sneered.

“That's... That's not what I meant.” It was too obvious an escape route; retaliation would be inevitable. And if they weren't going to let _one_ of these people die, they sure as hell wouldn't let a whole bunch of them be slaughtered.

“Then if you have no further ideas-”

“I _gave_ you an idea.”

“And I rejected it. If that was _all_ you had, then I bid you goodnight.” With that he flounced into a nearby tent, the flaps falling closed behind him as pointedly as any slamming door.

Byleth was left standing outside, fists clenched so tightly they were shaking all over.

Other people were staring at them.

It didn't matter. They needed to think up a way around this, but their brain felt _clouded_ , choked by their own anger.

No, they couldn't get lost in themself like this. The last time this happened they go kidnapped and shipped all the way to Enbarr.

They closed their eyes and tried to swallow it down. The Empire's... whoever they were using, wouldn't be able to kill the messenger if they didn't know there _was_ one. And they wouldn't know there was one if the person they'd planted here couldn't _tell_ them. And the person they'd planted here certainly wouldn't be able to tell them if Byleth didn't give them a _chance_.

So. Byleth was off to watch Jeritza like a Sothis-damned _hawk_.

“You're following me,” Jeritza said drily. He kept walking between the campfire and the tent he was sharing with Byleth (and some other two unlucky soldiers) tonight. Byleth wished he would just settle down and drink with everyone else. It would make their job simpler.

“Yes.”

“Stop it.”

“No.”

Jeritza continued to stand still and stare at them. So Byleth stood still and stared at him back.

The mess of soldiers over by the campfire suddenly fell silent. Instinctively Byleth turned around to see why. The margrave had deigned them with his presence, sticking out with his shiny breastplate still on. He was clapping his hand onto the shoulder of a soldier, slight even though covered by a heavy cloak; it was hard to tell because of the distance and poor light, but Byleth could've sworn it was Jan, from last night. Jan nodded at something the margrave said, before pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head and walking shakily away from the camp. South. Over the border.

No one followed.

“The margrave truly is foolish.” Byleth whipped back around to see a smile on Jeritza's face, disconnected between his mouth and eyes, uncomfortable to look at.

“Don't.” Jeritza tilted his head, just a touch. Then tried to walk past Byleth. They grabbed firm hold of his sleeve. “I said _don't_.” His eyes were teetering on the edge of focus when he next looked at them.

“I'm just getting a drink.” Byleth still didn't let go of him until he was safely at the fireside grimacing around a tankard of weak beer.

Steadily, the other soldiers trickled off to their tents, and eventually that included Jeritza. Byleth jumped to their feet in time with him. Remained on his heel as he paced towards where the pair of them would be sleeping. Internally cursed the fact they would be trying to out-not sleep him _again_. Wondered if there was a way for them to somehow exchange 'never feeling hot' for 'staying awake as long as they wanted'.

Jeritza stopped short at their tent. Stretched his arms up. Yawned.

By the time his face unscrewed itself, he was grinning. His eyes too unshadowed for the low light. Byleth barely had time to reach for the cheap sword at their side before they were blown back from the force of a cylinder of purple light bursting forth from the ground before them.

They had forgotten he could do that.

Amongst the sounds of soldiers crying out in shock, Byleth clawed back time.

Jeritza stretched and yawned, and this time cried out as Byleth barrelled into him. Purple light surrounded both of them now and they felt the ground fall out of their reach.

There was no impact, per se, but the dark magic still curled around them leaving Byleth breathless as they landed. It was dark, and unknown, and they now knew why the Church didn't seem to teach the dark magic warps they'd seen the enemy using.

They pushed themself up to their hands and feet, looking around desperately for wherever Jeritza had ended up.

There. A human silhouette a little ways away, a slight crimson glow haloing the head.

“Wh-who goes there?!” squeaked a voice that, yes, was definitely Jan from last night. Jeritza must have heard it at the same time, because he lurched off to the left, towards another, smaller, distant figure.

Byleth pursued.

The moon was new tonight, Jeritza's edges only painted with red even as Byleth slammed into his back, sending both of them sprawling across the solid dirt. Jeritza let out a roar of effort, spinning where he lay violently enough for Byleth to be thrown away from him. The ground was flat, at least, and they stopped rolling quick enough.

“Get back to camp!” they yelled, already scrambling to their feet alongside Jeritza.

“Pr-professor?! Is that you?!” They were losing ground on Jeritza. With as much spite for his height behind them as they could muster, Byleth slowed and launched a Nosferatu at his back. It struck true, likely not enough to hurt him, but plenty to make him stumble and fall to his knees.

“Go! Now!” Their throat hurt from shouting so loud, but it was starting to cushion them. It was them, their opponent, and an endless expanse of darkness. They thought they might have seen Jan nod before he began to run towards them. Why- Byleth peeked over their shoulder. Sure enough, the distant orange glow of the camp's fire was right on the horizon. Behind them.

More to the point, behind _the Death Knight_.

They forced themself on, torn between running at full pelt and trying to fire Nosferatu again to knock Jeritza down. He pulled himself up to his feet, and Byleth's decision was made. They cast, and the air around them glowed green with their crest.

It did absolutely nothing for such a weak attack except light up their surroundings enough to make the weak glow around Jeritza's face unnoticeable. But he was on the ground again, close enough for Byleth to unsheathe their sword and lunge.

Jeritza rolled out of the way just in time, leaving Byleth's sword to ricochet off the hard ground in an unpleasant lurch. He moved upright seamlessly, then right back in a fluid counter that Byleth had to skid out of the way of. He'd pulled his own sword out at some point. This close in the darkness it was hard to tell, his body only a jumbled mass of shadow apart from the dim points of red at his eye level, like two glowing coals set into his face.

And to think, Byleth had always assumed the Death Knight's mask did that all on its own. A brief, entirely inappropriate flicker of satisfaction ran through them at not being the only one they knew who just glowed sometimes.

They attacked again, aiming for his left side but being parried at the last moment, sparks popping into the night as their blades clashed. There were dry footsteps somewhere nearby, running. Byleth ducked, felt the rush of air of a sword swung above their head, let their momentum carry them around for a strike to Jeritza's legs.

He cried out in pain. Finally, a real hit. They couldn't be sure where, but it forced Jeritza's shadow to shrink on itself, the light from his eyes flickering and being snuffed.

Byleth took a careful step back. They could still hear the sound of their own breathing, the sound of Jeritza's breathing, the sound of the third shadow passing them by.

And then in a rush there was red light once more, and the taste of ozone, and the flash of lightning.

The third shadow fell to the ground with a thud.

As the Death Knight's shadow surged once more, Byleth brought time back.

It was dark, but Byleth rushed forwards, sword aimed at the bundle of a silhouette below them. Again, red light, the taste of ozone, and then a bitten off grunt as Jeritza swung his arm to block and Byleth's sword sunk into the meat of it. And then white. Their teeth ground together as the Thunder spell ran through them, fingers tightening painfully around the hilt of their sword.

They fell back, winded. Still conscious. Really wishing their Nosferatu was stronger.

The shadow before them shifted, grew alongside the blooming stench of blood. Red, ozone, blinding light and a cry as Jan fell.

Again. They pulled time again.

They fell again, pushed forwards again, crashed into Jeritza's back as the lightning flashed and Jan cried out.

No. They could pull back more.

The scent of blood surrounded them as they leapt to strike, blinded even as they dug into flesh, their sword giving under them as it hit bone. Another bright flash of light, and a brighter flash of anger in their gut.

What was the point of _any_ of this if they couldn't stop one damn bystander from dying for them?!

There was blood and ozone, and red and white as they sprinted forwards in a desperate attempt to at least shove Jan out of the way.

They hadn't a chance to hit the ground when time pulled itself back.

Blood, Thunder, the cry of pain as Jan went down. Attack failed, defence failed, and this time in a flurry of options Byleth ran forwards with a Heal spell in their arms. It lit too, caught the glint of Jan's eyes fluttering closed. Not conscious. Not dead. Not yet.

Jeritza was moving too, shambling closer on limbs stained dark in their weak light. Byleth's spell faded, and they readied their sword again. It was dark. Truly dark. With only the breathing of three shadows to cut through it.

Then,

“Move.” Jeritza's voice, steady and firm.

“If I do, you'll kill him,” Byleth said back. They kept their sword up, useless eyes flicking back and forth in worry that they were mistaken.

“If you do not move, I will kill you too.” Byleth shook their head, too late realising the action served no one.

“You'll have the Empire after you if you do.” And... there. That. He held reason still.

“Then I will only leave you unconscious.” That required restraint, but right now pointing that fact out might not help matters. Byleth took a breath, and raised their sword higher. Over their own neck.

“I could kill myself,” they said simply. They doubted it, were sure that whatever was left of Sothis inside them would snap them back to now, tell them still what a fool they were for even considering a gambit like that. But Jeritza didn't, _couldn't_ know about that. “Do you know any healing spells? Or if I slit my throat right here, would you have to explain yourself to Edelgard.”

Jeritza had fallen silent. Took an unsteady step back. “Why.”

“I told you before, I won't let you harm anyone here.”

There was a long pause. A gust of wind. Darkness.

“He cannot be allowed to spread word of our presence.” Byleth forlornly recalled the cry Jan had released (and not, and not, and not). He probably wasn't in much of a state to play messenger right now.

“Then let's return him to camp.” A rustle of fabric as Jeritza shifted in consideration. A sigh.

“Very well. Do not expect me to carry him.” They hadn't been.

The camp was in disarray when they arrived. A trio of soldiers rushed them immediately, wielding their swords and axes and shouting warnings until they realised who they were. The warnings turned to relief, and the trio grew to a dozen.

“We thought they'd got you for good this-”

“There was this flash and-”

“Was all that light them or-”

“Hey, you look kinda-”

Byleth craned their neck trying to spot, eventually seeing Nat sweeping towards them. They were all too happy to hand over her brother's unconscious form and make their way towards their tent for their well deserved sleep. Jeritza meanwhile had been caught up and swallowed by concerned onlookers, but Byleth was finding it hard to be sympathetic; if they heard any sudden screams of terror, they'd deal with that then.

A heavy hand fell onto their shoulder. “Eisner.” Byleth was halfway swung round into an uppercut before they realised it was just the margrave. “A word.” Byleth lowered their fist and looked at him expectantly. “Undermine my authority again and I shall show you no more mercy then any of my own men.” That was a lot more than just the one word. “Is that _clear_ , Eisner?” Byleth tilted their head curiously. They did have an idea of what he meant with that.

“I won't apologise for saving a man's life.” The stony expression on the margrave's face suggested that hadn't been what he wanted to hear.

“As it stands, Eisner, I am in command, and you are _not_ to disobey my orders for the sake of a single soldier.”

“It was one man's orders or one man's life, margrave-”

“I am not merely _one man_ , Eisner!” His booming voice left a quietened camp in its wake. Byleth squinted at him.

“...Do _you_ have a not-you too?” they wondered aloud. Maybe it had been normal all along to have an extra person in their head, and all Sothis' worrying had been for naught.

“I am the _Margrave of Gautier_!” he continued, fully ignoring what they'd said. “Marked by the Gautier crest, wielder of the Lance of Ruin-”

“You don't have the Lance; your son does.” They had to assume that hadn't suddenly changed. “So really you only have a title and a crest more than anyone else here. That doesn't seem very much at all.”

The wind bit cold into their skin, sent their fringe flickering across the top of their vision, irregular and unendingly green through the firelight. The margrave's gaze was haughty, the onlookers silent, Byleth's own mind unbreakably calm.

A smack. The world turned around them and the ground was dry under their fingernails, grass torn from its roots by the tramping of so many soldiers.

Byleth's left cheek burned. And their teeth had clattered together too harshly as they landed.

Everything felt very still as they turned to look up at the margrave, now towering above them like never before. Still, and clear. “You're never going to listen to me,” they said, soft voice still enough to be heard by anyone who thought to try.

“A lion does not lose sleep over the opinions of sheep.” The margrave turned on his heel, boot spitting back dust as he strode away.

Byleth's mind was steady as they got to their feet. Steady as they pressed their hand to their cheek to feel the warmth radiating from the skin. Steady as they drew back to check no blood had been drawn. Steady as they finally admitted what they had been avoiding.

The path they had been walking had run out. They had no choice but to choose another.

Byleth hadn't fallen asleep yet when the tent flap fluttered open, then closed. Jeritza had finally escaped from those fussing over him, then. Byleth shuffled around on their bedroll to stare at the wall of the tent. This close up, it smelled a little musty. There was the rustle of fabric behind them, and a warmth as Jeritza settled in the last remaining bedroll. For a moment it seemed like that was it, just the quiet snoring from the soldier on the other side of the tent to keep them company until they managed to sleep. But no.

“You're not asleep.” A huff of annoyance left Byleth, but they rolled back over to stare down Jeritza.

“What do you want?” they muttered. They couldn't see Jeritza's expression in the darkness.

“I...” He stopped. Fell quiet. Tried again. “He was allowed to kill if our positions were compromised.” Ah. The Death Knight.

“Allowed to.”

“Yes.”

“Not made to.”

Jeritza stayed silent for quite some time. “What else would you have him do? It is all he is.”

“He won't learn either?” Like the margrave.

“That...” He trailed off and didn't continue. And to think, Byleth had thought...

Never mind. They tossed back to stare at the canvas and wait for sleep to claim them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, my favourite memory of 3h is one of my playthrough's remire mission. I was close to killing and getting the loot from the death knight and his pals in the corner, but I couldn't quiiiiiiite get it in one turn, but jeralt was in range of killing solon and I'd run out of warps/rescues. but! after using most of my divine pulses to retry the turn and fiddle with who got crits where, I finally knocked everyone down and got my stuff! so satisfying holy crap.
> 
> of course, this was before I found out that green units don't k/o commanders, only knock them to 1hp. jeralt wouldn't have done shit. the entire charade was unnecessary. live and learn, I guess.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, this is a bit of a long boi, so obviously my wrist decided now was the best time to sprain itself -_- looking forward to the cyberpunk future where I can replace my entire body with cybernetics

Stumbling out of their tent the next morning, Byleth was met with an announcement. The plan had changed now that the dark mage caravan had tracked down their escaped quarry, and they would continue to camp here until they attacked again. Or, as Byleth's sleep-dampened mind eventually commented, until the margrave got bored of waiting around and demanded they go home.

But in any case, it was better for a certain couple of people that they didn't have to march today. Byleth had caught Jeritza still limping on his way out of the tent, and while they didn't know how well Jan was at recovering from battle, they wouldn't guess favourably. And it was that that caused them to gravitate towards the boy's tent after breakfast was cleared up.

"Oh, professor!" he chirped as they let the flap drop behind them. He was sitting propped up by a rolled up bundle of someone else's bedroll. Nat was at his side already, eyes looking more sunken than usual. Evidently Byleth hadn't been the only one who hadn't slept well last night. "So you managed to drag me back after all, huh?"

"No, I carried you." Honestly, they would never _drag_ someone if they could help it!

Jan laughed, then bowled over in a full body wince. "Well, thanks for not making me walk. Not sure I could've made that." Byleth had no doubts there.

"How are you feeling now?" they asked, moving in and taking a seat by both of their sides.

"Well, I guess you noticed already, side hurts if I move too quick."

"Which side?"

"Left," he said, gesturing to the side Nat and Byleth were already sitting by. Byleth slowly took hold of the hem of his undershirt and waited for a nod before hiking it up. As they'd expected, the skin between his ribs and hip was feathered with red, branching out like a forest's worth of tiny trees.

"At least it'll be a neat scar," Nat commented, voice heavy.

"It doesn't look bad enough to scar," Byleth said back, giving the lightning burn a quick poke and only getting a slight hiss from Jan. "Can you still breathe comfortably?"

Jan nodded. "It's just the side and down my leg that hurts. Must've twisted my ankle when I conked out."

"Your muscles seize up when hit with thunder spells," they said, suddenly thankful for the random Reason knowledge they'd picked up as a professor. "You may have strained your leg muscles then."

"Huh," Jan went, quietly. "We don't really learn all this magic stuff out here, so, thanks. Not sure what I would've done if you weren't here."

"You only got injuries that could be fixed with bed rest." (Eventually. He didn't need to know that.) "I'm not doing anything." Jan coughed, looked away, clenched his hands around the hem of his shirt. Byleth had no idea how to parse the aggressively blank expression on his face. Beside him, Nat theatrically rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.

"Say, why don't we get you outside and stretch your leg?" she said, mouth overworking the words so that they sounded rehearsed. Byleth had clearly missed a step in this conversation.

It was a little awkward to maneuver Jan up and into a light surcoat, but they managed it eventually. He only toppled over once in the process, which was probably a healthy number of times.

It was genuinely a little warm outside today, the wind having finally dropped. The sky was blue, the grass was the same drab shade as all of the other plant life in Gautier, and the birds had all been scared off by a sizable militia making no attempts to camouflage their presence whatsoever. And Byleth had clearly been here too long, because they were starting to consider this a nice day.

"So what happened out there last night?" Nat asked amicably. "Since Jan was taking an impromptu nap-"

"Hey, I was in active combat, thank you!" 

"And that other guy, uh... Gerald, or whoever-"

"Jerry," Byleth supplied.

"Yeah, him. He just wouldn't say anything no matter who asked! You're his friend, right? Is he always like that?"

"Yes." Byleth wouldn't put them as _friends_ , but they felt confident in assuming that much.

"It's not like I don't remember anything," Jan butted in. "And like, sure it was dark and hard to see, but I was still there! You saw it too, right, professor?"

They had a sudden sinking feeling. "Saw what?"

"Those creepy glowing eyes." They surreptitiously looked around to see if Jeritza was in earshot. "I swear they were on a man, too." He looked to be off by the dormant firepit, at the edge of a cluster of chattering older men. "Like a huge one, who moved scary fast." It would be simple enough to get Jan to stay quiet, surely, if it meant not unleashing a killer on them all. "I think it must've been a werewolf."

Byleth stopped in their tracks. Literally and figuratively, because how could they possibly continue down that current line of thought when they could instead mindlessly echo, "A werewolf..?" Jan nodded eagerly.

"Uh-huh! They're men who turn into giant wolves when there's a full moon and then run around and kill people all night then wake up and don't even remember what they've done but-" Nat reached out and covered his mouth with her hand.

"It's a new moon, idiot. And quit with the old wives' tales already." Jan's impassioned retort was utterly foiled by Nat's continued hand placement.

A werewolf, huh. Someone who transformed into a killer and back again. Both a were and a wolf-

"Please don't tell me you agree with him," Nat said, snapping them from their pondering. "You'd know if you fought a giant wolf."

Something came out of Jan that sounded quite a lot like a muffled, "Not if it changed back!" Byleth shrugged noncommittally. Sure, why not. Nat groaned and let her hand drop from her brother's face.

"I'm not having this conversation."

There was a shout from one of the old men. "Easy there, lad!" Byleth jerked to attention, hand reaching for their sword as they spun to face danger. There, Jeritza had stood, was glaring down at the man next to him. "I'm not accusing you of anything; pressure does things to a man!" Jeritza's pose changed slightly, a shift of the shoulders. It was light now, but Byleth wondered if they'd be a better judge in the dark. They took their first steps and, even across camp, Jeritza flinched at the sound, turned his head to stare them down. His companions had begun to look over in curiosity too. Somehow it felt very surreal to see Jeritza flanked by more than a couple of people. Especially without anyone trying to kill anyone else.

Byleth stopped a ways away, comfortably out of range of attack (so long as Jeritza hadn't secretly been sitting on any more spells) but... definitely _there_. A silent dare.

Jeritza broke first, eyes skittering to the side. With a slight spasm of pain, he slowly sat back down, leaving his squad of old men to stare down Byleth in his stead.

They only needed a moment of _that_ before they'd had enough; it was like a damn battalion of greying Seteths over there! With a shudder and a brief nod, Byleth turned and hurried back to where Jan and Nat were caught in the same argument about werewolves.

Someone cleared their throat behind Byleth, interrupting their (observing of the) heated debate between Nat and Jan. Considering it felt like half the day had gone without them settling down, Byleth was welcome for the distraction.

Until, of course, they looked and it turned out _Jeritza_ was the distraction.

He was staring at them, squared stance the stiffest Byleth had ever seen him in. "...I want to talk with you," he said at last in a voice so forced that Byleth was inclined to peer past him to find whoever was making him do this. So they did. The old men around the fire were watching the action play out with eager expressions... which answered that question.

Byleth nodded at Jeritza for him to go ahead. He frowned, glancing at the pair of siblings. "Alone," he added. Byleth nodded again, holding a hand out for him to lead the way. A moment of hesitation passed, before Jeritza nodded too, then slowly began to shuffle away.

Even if he hadn't asked, Byleth likely would've followed anyway just to see why he was acting so strange.

He led them to their tent, stepping inside and poking the bedrolls, presumably to make sure they were really alone. He cleared his throat again, face pinched and back bent from the low clearance. Byleth waited, then took the initiative and sat down on their bedroll; it was uncomfortable to stand with their neck cricked as it was. Jeritza followed after them, too quickly, as if he'd forgotten that sitting down was an option.

"I..." he began, voice strained. "I have been thinking about last night." Byleth felt their curiosity fade and sink. "About..." He wasn't looking at Byleth, gaze instead focussed on his hands as they twisted together. "...You still kill people."

"Not my allies," they said.

"If they become a problem to me, that makes them an enemy," Jeritza shot immediately, face upturning to look at Byleth accusingly. A thousand different iterations of 'murder is bad' bounced aimlessly around their head, but somehow they doubted the moral argument would make much of an impression.

"Sometimes it's more convenient in the long run to not kill people," they settled on. It felt weak to them, but at least Jeritza looked interested. "...Such as last night," they continued hopefully. "It was easier to leave Jan unconscious than it was to kill him, wasn't it?"

"Only because you got in the way," Jeritza grumbled.

"If I wasn't here to get in the way, you wouldn't have been sent here either." Some things just _were_. And Jeritza did _not_ appear to like that idea, if the sour look on his face was anything to go by. "Also, if the Death Knight killed him, everyone in camp would be in a worse mood."

"Then perhaps they would have left me in peace," Jeritza said in a huff. Then, under his breath, "I should not have let you stop him." Byleth paused to mull over that. It sounded an awful lot like...

"You don't know how to get people to leave you alone?" Jeritza sprung into motion, chin lifting haughtily and eyes narrowing.

"They keep trying to talk to me about things I don't care about, and will not cease their infernal chatter even as I do not respond. Clearly, they are all too old and no longer fear the death I will wreak upon them." That was... Hm.

Ah well. This was strangely giving them the same thrilling warmth as giving advice to their students after class.

"Have you tried just asking them to give you some space?"

Jeritza's mouth tightened in response. They... hadn't thought so. "That will get them to leave them be?"

"Yes." Probably! "Much quicker than killing everyone in camp."

"I..." Jeritza trailed off for a moment, staring off at the tent wall. "I will try that." A successful lesson! A little spark of happiness settled among Byleth's ribs as they pushed themself to their feet.

They paused at the tent flap. "I could tell that group at the fire that you're resting for now," they said. "So they don't disturb you." They watched as Jeritza's face turned back down to stare at his hands again.

"I would like that." They nodded, and let the flap fall on their way out.

The sun finally began its slow journey across the horizon as dinner was served. Thankfully they'd completely run out of mutton by now, and this evening's soup merely tasted bland as opposed to... disconcertingly sweaty. Byleth even wandered back over for seconds. They frowned at how little was left in the pot. Well, if everyone had already eaten their firsts...

"Dammit, don't tell me it's all gone already," muttered someone approaching behind them. "Bastard, keeping me so long..." Byleth looked up to see a woman, about their age, with mussed hair and a shawl draped to cover right up to her neck. "You still need to eat too?" she asked, staring at Byleth. They shook their head and stepped out of her way to grab her a bowl for her.

"Thanks," she said with a sigh as she batted chunks of carrot out of the way of the ladle. "Ah, which one were you again? Jerry or..."

"Byleth." She nodded and drank a mouthful of what surely must be mostly broth.

"Sorry, I'm not great at putting names to faces. Just know you don't look too familiar." Byleth edged back to the pot and looked at the damp vegetables at the bottom.

"Is there anyone coming after you?" The woman snorted.

"Pretty sure the margrave hasn't eaten yet, but fuck 'im." Byleth blinked in shock. Teaching a bunch of noble kids had really shifted their default perception of how often people swore. "Ugh, I guess I shouldn't be saying that _right_ to your face. But feel free to disagree all you like." Byleth thought about it, and then after thinking about it went ahead and scooped the last of the vegetables into their bowl. "Yeah, that's what I thought," the woman said with a chuckle.

The both of them ate in silence as they stood by the fire, Byleth internally trying to answer their own personal question of whether what they were currently eating still qualified as a soup. Because what was a soup, really? 

"So, you sticking around long once all this-" She stopped to waggle her hand around vaguely. "Once all this bollocks is done?" 

"My students are already looking for me." The woman grimaced around her mouthful of broth.

"Damn. Would've been nice to have you round to tear the margrave a few more new ones. Goddess knows he deserves it." Byleth hummed noncommittally into their vegetables. They got the impression this woman wasn't particularly fond of the margrave. "Be nice for him to feel some sorta shame about what he's doing while we're stuck out here," she continued in a mutter. Byleth made a questioning noise. "Just look around you, prof. You see any older women along for the ride?" Now that she mentioned it... She looked to be the oldest woman here; the greying portion of the camp was completely oversaturated with beards. "Doesn't take a genius to guess what his tastes are, does it?"

"Girlier..." Byleth mumbled, remembering their conversation a few days ago with one of the laundry maids. It felt like an exhausting amount of time ago now.

Their soup companion sighed. "That's the one. You know what he got his criers to say though? 'Older women stay behind to look after children'. As if the old fart has cared about our kids a day in his life!" Byleth had run out of ways to respond, and was now down to staring blankly at their empty bowl. "Don't think I knew a single kid growing up who got to live happy with two parents and a house that didn't get torched by some vengeful prick on a rampage. If it's not Srengis who want the border moved, taking it out on _us_ , it's some thieving sods who lost everything to the _last_ thieving sods who'll just cause more thieving sods _next_ year." She sighed an unbelievably heavy sigh and took a drink of her soup.

"...Have you considered moving somewhere else?" Byleth asked gingerly. They had _not_ known what they were getting into when they started this conversation. Let it start. Whatever they did that resulted in this situation.

The woman lowered her bowl, smacking her lips in satisfaction. "Oh, loads lately. Probably _would_ if I wasn't waiting for family to come home from the war. You know, back in the day at least we had the Church around to help while the Kingdom wanted to stab people, but we don't even have that now _they're_ busy stabbing people. Dunno what the point of having the Kingdom is if they're gonna leave us behind whenever the Church does. Far as I know it just means we all have to pay both tithe _and_ taxes, the money grubbing bastards."

Something acrid was making itself known in Byleth's gut. When they next glanced up, their companion was staring at them, concern in their eyes. They must have shown something in their expression.

"Shit, I went too far, didn't I? L-listen, this is all just talk, okay? Don't mean anything serious by it- I mean, I'm just tired and stressed and- I'll just get out of your hair, shall I?!" Her voice squeaked into a hysterical giggle as she dropped her bowl and turned to run.

Tried to. Byleth had reached out to grab her arm without even thinking. Their own bowl clattered to the ground next to hers. "Wait." They could feel her muscles tense in their grip. "I... won't tell." Shakily she turned her head to face them. Her eyes were shiny.

She looked at their surroundings, movements jerky; no one else was near the fire right now, far too concerned they might be asked to help with the clean up. "...You swear?" Byleth nodded. Their companion carefully pulled her arm back to herself as their grasp loosened. "I... I suppose you seem honest enough. Just... Sorry I got carried away like that with ya. Guess having someone important actually listening to me sent me on a bit of a power trip. Too used to- Well. You know who." Byleth nodded again. Margrave Gautier certainly wasn't the listening type. "I should... I should probably get myself to bed anyway; I really am tired. But, yeah. Thanks for hearing me out and all. If you ever end up out here again, ask around for Mathilde and I'll make sure you get somewhere to rest for the night."

"Thank you." They admittedly would not be coming out here again if they could help it. Not without bringing a large supply of their own food with them.

Someone or other had set up a second campfire on the outskirt of the encampment. So that was presumably why the centre of camp had seemed so empty after dinner. Currently gathered in a huddle by this second fire was a large group of people in various states of undress, a deck of playing cards divided among them. More curiously still, their number included _Jeritza_ , who was for some baffling reason down his shoes but _up_ a furred cloak that definitely wasn't his.

Intrigued, Byleth wandered over.

"Ugh, fold," called one man, dropping his cards and leaning back on his arms.

"Call," said the young woman to his left.

"Call," said Jeritza a few more heads down.

"Fold."

"Call."

An older man leant into the centre of the ring and flipped a card on the ground there face up to match its neighbour. They went round the ring again, a few more people folding. "Alright then, cards down." The three people left in the game laid their hands out. A moment's consideration and, "Bram's full house it is then." Looked like they were playing some form of poker then. And by the way Jeritza was removing his belt and the man who won was putting a shirt back on, there wasn't much gold in the betting pool.

Speaking of Jeritza though... Byleth squinted at his cards. They were genuinely worthless. Not even a pair to his name.

Byleth crouched and squeezed in to sit next to him. Jeritza watched them from the corner of his eye. "Hello."

"Oi, you want to be dealt into the next round?" asked the dealer from across the ring.

"No thank you." As a mercenary they'd been told they weren't much fun to play poker with. Something about being too good at bluffing?

Byleth turned to Jeritza instead as the next hand was dealt. "Why didn't you fold last round?" they murmured. "It was almost impossible to win with the cards you had."

"...I didn't realise." Byleth looked at him in disbelief. The cards were all on the table at that point! It was impossible to not realise you had nothing in your hand!

Well. Unless...

"Do you... know the rules to this game?"

Jeritza didn't answer immediately, instead guiltily picking up his new cards. Three fours. Not bad, but nothing to write home about.

"I know I have to call to win." Oh boy.

"Wait, so you haven't just been bluffing?!" exclaimed the ageing man on Byleth's other side. "Cripes, lad, you should've said something!"

"What's that?" asked someone else.

"Jerry doesn't know how to play!"

"You're _kidding_! How're you doing the best here?!" Jeritza pulled his borrowed cloak around himself a little tighter.

"Sodding hell, talk about beginner's luck..."

"You wanna play something less complicated instead? So you'll catch up faster?"

"I could go for some vingt-un about now-"

"Goddess please! I've had too much to drink for any more poker."

"You sure you can count high enough with the state you're in?"

"Oh shut it, you-"

"Alright, hand your cards back; we're switching." A few people got to their feet, stretching their arms and gathering up their discarded clothing.

"You wanna join for this one, professor?" Byleth nodded with a shrug. Why not? This was a pretty luck based game after all. "Anyone mind if I stay dealer?"

"We told you last time, no one wants to see you get naked." Laughter rippled round the group.

He was a startlingly efficient dealer, setting out ten two-card hands in a matter of seconds, then his own. There was a whoop from near the end of his arc.

"Natural vingt-un, baby! My breeches live to see another day!"

"Just dumping that on poor Jerry, huh? Shame on you, Bram."

Bram sighed, pausing with one sock halfway pulled up his leg. "Okay, so you gotta make twenty-one points with your cards without going over. Faces are worth ten, and aces are either one or eleven, whichever you want. You get twenty-one exactly you get to put clothes back on, otherwise you're up against the dealer." Jeritza nodded solemnly, and looked firmly at his own cards: two fours.

"...I have eight."

"...Alright then, uh, left of dealer wanna start?" The player in question sat the tankard she was drinking from down and wiped her mouth. From across the circle Byleth could just about see she had a queen and a three.

"Card."

The dealer drew and set down a seven. "Twenty points," he said.

"Stand," the player said with a chuckle. "Ain't pissed enough for _that_ bet."

The next few players had similar turns: a stand at fifteen, a stand at seventeen, a stand at eighteen. Jeritza's go.

"Card."

"Twelve."

"Card."

"Sixteen." Four-of-a-kind! Byleth shooed away that errant thought.

"Card."

"And... twenty-one!"

"Your breeches are _also_ safe!" someone shouted and was met with a wave of laughter. As Jeritza settled back to pull one of his boots back on, Byleth glared at his fingers suspiciously. It didn't _look_ like he was wearing any lucky rings at the moment...

But it was their go. They had a ten and a two in their hand, and there were already quite a few face cards laid out in other people's hands already. So really it was an obvious choice to say, "Card." The dealer drew and placed their card.

King.

"And that's bust!"

Byleth let themself fall back until they were lying flat on the ground so they wouldn't have to look at their cards anymore. Vingt-un was a silly game, anyway.

They felt a tap on their knee and craned their neck up. "You forfeit a piece of clothing now," said Jeritza.

Jeritza had dumped 'his' cloak, stiffly said "I require rest," and wandered off quite some time ago. Byleth was a little glad he wasn't around to witness their abysmal luck; they'd been stripped to their smalls in a frighteningly short amount of time. That, or they'd lost track of how long they'd been out here playing cards. The waxing moon hung high in the sky and if they lost concentration on the match for even a moment they could feel sleepiness starting to seep into their limbs. Yes, they should probably turn in for the night.

They turned down their next hand and shuffled back to at least pull their tunic and boots on for their journey back to their tent. "Been nice playing with ya!" someone called after them.

As they approached the tent, they heard a sudden flapping sound and looked to the edge of camp just in time to catch sight of a large bird (an owl, perhaps?) taking to the sky, a human silhouette below with its arm outstretched after it. From the silhouette's shape and the fact that when Byleth peeked into the tent it was empty, it could only be one person.

"You don't look very restful," they said, sidling up to Jeritza's side. He jerked in shock, before turning around with a grumpy look on his face.

"I can't restrain myself if you insist on taking me by surprise."

Byleth solemnly clapped a few times. "Well done not murdering me on reflex. You've made excellent progress in this class: E+." Jeritza made a quiet noise of disgust. The bird he'd sent off had already melted into the night sky. "Were you sending a message with that?"

"My report for the past two days." Ah... Come to think of it, Jeritza had gone straight to bed last night for the first time since they arrived in Gautier.

"You brought writing supplies all the way out here?" Ink was messy enough when you _weren't_ on the march!

"I could not send messages if I had nothing to write with." He had a point. Byleth doubted that messenger bird was much of a verbal communicator.

"It's a shame you had to quit playing cards to do paperwork," Byleth said conversationally, adjusting their bundle of clothes in their arms and staring out at the surrounding darkness. "You looked like you were having fun."

"I..." Jeritza sighed and shifted on his feet. "Some of the gossip was... pertinent."

"Oh, have you heard about how you're a wolf yet?"

"It's a foolish notion," he shot bitterly. "Wolves are pack animals. If anything I am more like a cat." A... cat. 

"Like the ones at the monastery?" Byleth's mind immediately provided the image of one of the pale little Riegan Tabbies that liked to beg fish off them on their days off. Except with slightly glowing red eyes.

"There are wild cats too," Jeritza said indignantly, before adding under his breath, "apparently."

"What's the difference?"

"Wild ones are... bigger. And hairier, to face the snow." The cat in Byleth's mind was now much fatter and fluffier. "They're fierce hunters who work... alone...

"Why are you smiling?" Byleth slapped a hand over their mouth, feeling the skin contorted beyond what they could control. The imaginary tabby now had Jeritza's hair ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. "I can still see your eyes." They'd unleashed something truly destructive upon their mind.

"Do you think they make armour for cats?" they murmured, a little black breastplate covering the cat's body before they could stop it.

A broken wheeze sounded alarmingly close to them. It took a solid moment for them to realise _Jeritza_ had made that noise. "They should," he whispered. He was staring resolutely out at nothing, mouth tight.

"And little swords." Jeritza shook his head profusely.

"A cat has no use for a weapon; its claws are enough."

"They're _brawlers_ ," Byleth exclaimed softly.

They let silence fall over the both of them, giving each other ample time to contemplate the wealth of mental images now available to them.

...Byleth definitely needed to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/9/20 EDIT: I wasn't happy with the margrave scene, so I've touched it up a bit. needed a couple days break to figure out what I wanted changed lol.

It had rained overnight, the trampled grass around the camp still slick and bright with it. The sun had risen high in the sky by the time Byleth pulled themself out of the tent for a refreshing morning walk. There was something comforting about camping out in the open like this rather than the unchanging walls of the monastery or some noble’s castle. A warm feeling of... nostalgia perhaps? Byleth wasn’t good at sorting through this sort of thing.

A huddle of four boys stopped their chatter as Byleth strolled past them. Then one called out, “Um, Professor?” They stopped and turned. The shortest among them, barely breaking five feet, was being shoved forwards by his friends. “Well,” he continued, nerves written plainly across his face. “Some of us were wondering, since you used to teach fighting at a school an’ all, if you’d mind looking at our stances, just to see if...” He trailed away with a wheeze, having run out of breath.

Byleth nodded. “Right now?” The entire group’s faces lit up in excitement as they pulled out their cheap swords and lances.

They were surprisingly competent despite, as they told Byleth plenty, not having formal training beyond the odd retired knight who couldn’t demonstrate much of anything anymore. They’d certainly heard from their students that Faerghan children picked up a sword before ever getting near a pen, but had sort of assumed that was more of a noble thing.

“If we keep practising, d’you think we could end up in one of your battalions?” asked the smallest as Byleth nudged his sword arm down into a more secure position.

“I’d love to be a Blue Lion someday,” added one of the other boys with a slow lance swing against his sparring partner.

Byleth frowned. “The war will be over soon. You won’t have time.” The boys laughed.

“If we ain’t good enough, we won’t mind if you say straight up. No need for the kid stuff!”

“‘Kid stuff’?” Byleth echoed.

“We know it’s not just gonna _end_. It’s gone on _forever_ -”

“Only for five years,” Byleth cut in.

“What’s ‘ _only_ ’ about five years?! I’ve got three more siblings since then!” Sounded like the lad had some very busy parents. “I don’t know anyone left who actually thinks ‘ooh, we’re gonna push the Empire dastards back and retake the west!’ or any of that pish. We’re just gonna keep on defending our borders, right? Like, _we’re_ just the _real_ Faerghus now.” Byleth blinked and stepped back.

“No, we’re definitely getting rid of the Empire,” they said. Certainly wouldn’t be much of an empire without an emperor.

“But that’s an entire country! You can’t _actually_ do that!”

“Why not?”

“Eh? Whaddya mean ‘why not’?! It’s a country! It just... it’s just a _thing_! That’s like getting rid of Faerghus!”

Byleth shrugged. “Faerghus didn’t always exist. It’s only-”

“Don’t ‘only’ things that aren’t ‘only’,” the boy grumbled. “I know you’re old but you’re not _that_ old.” Ah, so they had now been called old before they’d hit their thirties. Kids could be so cruel.

“Quit being a coward, have ya?!” shouted one of the boys, dropping his stance to wave at someone off by the main campfire. He was promptly whacked upside the head by his sparring partner and collapsed in an undignified heap. With a sigh, Byleth shifted their attention to checking his head for damage. No blood, still conscious; the kid was probably fine.

“You wanna join us?” his sparring partner yelled at the same figure by the fire. “The professor’s teaching us!” Byleth looked over to see who they’d been tasked with now. Jan was limping over, no steadier on his feet than he had been the previous day.

“Have you guys seen Nat?” he asked once he was close enough. “She said she was gonna get me breakfast but she hasn’t come back and it’s been ages-”

“Aw, is ickle Jan _scared_ without big sis around to look after him?”

“Shut up, I’m just _asking_.”

“I saw her walking off with the margrave earlier,” butted in the shortest boy. Byleth noted with a mite of irritation that he’d ruined his grip on his sword again and walked over to correct him.

“What? You’re kidding!”

“Her fault for giving him the stink eye all day. No duh he’s gonna chew her out-”

“That’s not wha- you’re a fucking _idiot_ , you know that?!”

“Am not!”

Byleth held their hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Let’s all get along.” The boys fell quiet. “Jan, there’s porridge left over the fire. You four, keep practising, but no more head shots-”

“Boo...”

“I’m going to track down the margrave and get him to stop bothering his soldiers.” No one seemed to have any objections, so with a final nod they set off to confront Margrave Gautier. His tent seemed as good a place to look as any.

The first thing that hit them was the sharp aroma of alcohol. And then, blood. Sweet and filling out the squared space of the tent.

The margrave curled, gasping on his raised cot, blanket tangled around his legs, shirt staining red from the knife buried in his side. Nat knelt over him. She was still holding the handle.

She was staring at the entrance of the tent.

There was a murder taking place. Of a man Byleth disliked. Of a man who ordered his own men to their deaths without flinching. Of a man who’d crowded them and hit them and and treated them with contempt at their first disagreement.

Byleth should still act. They had to change something. A man was dying.

They took in their surroundings: the margrave’s boots kicked off without bothering with the buckles, his leather covered flask leaking liquor across the floor, his hands trapped behind him by his own half-removed surcoat.

“Pro...fessor...” Gautier croaked, joining Nat in staring down Byleth with pleading eyes.

The two stayed frozen as Byleth approached them. Frozen as they looked closer at the knife. It was one of the double edged ones they’d been using to prepare food. Not ideal, but sharp enough to do the job, if one knew how. It was at an odd angle, had clearly been sent askew by the margrave’s ribs.

This wasn’t Gronder. Despite the familiar feeling of being here before, their own abilities were likely enough to save this man.

They should, by all means. He wouldn’t learn now, but he _couldn’t_ learn if he was dead. But it wasn’t just him. This was a man who’d executed his own soldier for trying to help a nameless child. Who’d been furious that Byleth had stopped another dying pointlessly. Whose intimidation was so well known it had been taken as a fact of life by so very many people they’d spoken to. So what was the point of him?

Nat whimpered as Byleth covered her hands with their own. The knife had a handle, not a hilt, and the blood crept up the blade and onto their fingertips.

There were words in the back of their head. Ideas. _A bad person doing a good job: the most irritating sort of person._ But surely that contained the idea that the job they were doing was going well.

The margrave shuddered as Byleth gently pulled the knife back. Nat had gone quiet and pliant. They twisted the knife in their grasp, the blade a neat line of red above red.

So when they guided the knife forward, it slid neatly between Margrave Gautier’s ribs.

The margrave’s words were lost to a series of gurgles, blood dripping from his lips in their place. This was an allied lord; they really should turn back time and save him. Put things back to the way they were. Leave him to spend his days how he did, holed away with girls and drink and a rule of fear.

Byleth distantly wondered if there should be more to their state of mind than the enveloping calmness that swaddled them. Time trickled forwards like water from an upturned bucket, like the liquor staining the ground, like blood from a fatal wound.

Nothing changed. The world did not end. Time did not snap back into place. The margrave’s laboured breathing rattled to a close, and there were two people in the room.

Fuzzily, Byleth peeled their fingers away from the knife. They were sticky. Red.

The cot shook as Nat pushed herself away, curling around herself in a twisted mirror of the corpse she’d helped to make. “I...” she shuddered more than said. “I’m sorry. I swear I’m sorry- I-” Tears spilled from her eyes and choked her into hiccups. Byleth looked on passively.

“This is your first time killing someone,” they noted. Nat didn’t seem able to put together a coherent response right now. Hm. It had been a while since they’d last dealt with someone not yet numbed to death. “Your brother was looking for you.” Nat peered over her knees at them, eyes wide and concerned. “He’s probably still eating breakfast.”

“Good,” she mumbled, voice thick. Her eyes darted back over to the body on the bed and stuck there. “I- The knife was right there- When he told me to go with-” She kept interrupting herself to sniffle. “I- I was _scared-_ But I don’t- I don’t want to _die_ -” She broke again, sobs halfway into pleas.

“It’s over now,” Byleth said. “He can’t do anything anymore.” Nat rubbed furiously at her eyes.

“You’re in danger too now. You killed him too.” Byleth looked at her questioningly. Even when he’d been alive, they could beat the margrave in a fight just fine. “Someone’s gonna find out- The _margravine’s_ still...”

“Oh, I see.” They hadn’t come across a situation where an important noble was killed by an ally, but it did seem a bit traitorous. And that... was something Byleth didn’t have the _cheeriest_ library of memories for. “That might be a problem.”

“You _think_?!” Nat hissed.

“Do you think we’ll still be executed if no one knows we killed him?”

“Wh- I mean, well, I guess... They wouldn’t _think_ to, right?” And Byleth wasn’t about to exhaust themself winding back time far enough to undo the death of someone they’d never heard a kind word for, so..!

“We can say the dark mages did it!” They reckoned they were getting much more used to this whole subterfuge thing!

Nat frowned at them, then eyed the body warily. “We’re gonna say the dark mages _stabbed_ him? Who’s gonna believe _that_?”

“No one said anything about Jerry coming back with stab wounds the other day.”

“...Now that you mention it, that _was_ a bit odd...” Abort, abort, abort!

“We can pretend there was a fight. Anything can happen in the heat of the moment!” Nat mulled it over for a moment. Then nodded.

“Okay. Let’s mess up the tent. For realism.”

There wasn’t much to mess up that hadn’t been messed up before Byleth had arrived. A few attacks aimed at the canvas walls, the margrave’s lance dug out and painted with his own blood, his body and clothes rearranged to relative decency... It was only a little, but it at least looked like he’d died in battle rather than halfway into bed. Enough so to avoid obvious questions, anyway.

Nat wiped her hands off on the bedsheets. “Time to go yell for help, right?” Byleth nodded. She took a deep breath. “Right, since I’m damned anyway...” She barrelled out through the tent flap, shrieking.

Byleth drew their own sword, trying to see this as training time instead of focussing on the ridiculousness of swinging at an imaginary enemy. They could hear voices approaching outside, and they prepared the brightest Nosferatu they could muster. It bounced around the room, bright and brilliant and painfully blinding.

They could hear people flooding into the tent rather than see them, eyes squeezed shut against the light.

“Where are they?” shouted one of the boys they’d been training earlier. Byleth was still blinking spots out of their eyes. They’d learnt something about using magic in enclosed spaces today.

“Did they escape?” asked someone else.

“Holy _shit_ , the margrave!” Byleth let themself get swept out of the tent in a desperate rabble of confusion.

Byleth sat by Jeritza by their own little fire, more of them glowing warningly all around the circumference of camp. No one was getting much sleep tonight. If they weren’t patrolling, they were huddled around the weak warmth of a campfire, staring out into the gloom and anticipating the next attack.

Well, Byleth supposed, that last part wasn’t quite true for all of them. In a way they were glad Jeritza had insisted on pairing up with them; they could break their façade around him.

Currently he was sitting in an awkward, cross-legged way so he could use his own boot as a ramshackle surface for writing. His handwriting was remaining impressively neat despite it. “You’re staring at me,” he said without looking up. Byleth gave a non-committal hum. “Stop it.”

“There’s nothing else to look at. I can’t watch for an enemy that doesn’t exist.” They leaned back on their arms and kicked their legs out idly.

“Give it time.”

“Give what time?”

“I’m asking for help.” Byleth hummed.

“Never seen you do that before,” they mused. Though they were staring at the fire, they could sense Jeritza turning to glare at them.

“If you had not set the entire camp on edge, this would not be a problem; now they all think they’re moments away from death.” Eh, they’d been moments from death the instant the Death Knight had entered Gautier. Now that Byleth had grown attached to these people, they wondered if it wouldn’t have been a better idea to jump out the wagon on the way here and accept whatever Adrestian flavoured consequences may have come.

“They’ll get bored eventually,” they reasoned. Again in hindsight, they probably could’ve thought of a better strategy for covering up the murder of the margrave. One that didn’t involve mass sleep deprivation.

Oh, to have limitless control of time...

Jeritza finished his letter in the silence that settled between them, and he laid it on the ground, pen weighing it down, to let the ink dry.

“I thought you would be more upset,” he eventually said.

“At what?” Jeritza turned to face them, mouth drawn.

“You told me yesterday you didn’t kill your allies.” He sounded smug. Maybe they picked the wrong argument back then after all.

“I didn’t _start_ it,” they said, aware immediately of how weak a protest it was. Jeritza tipped his head slowly, considering.

“He was foolish to attack you.” Byleth grimaced and looked away. Logically they knew this didn’t matter. But the secret felt like it was burning a hole in them, a sickly perversion of guilt. “Or... no?” Byleth shook their head. “Then...” He frowned at his letter, ink still glinting in the firelight. “The girl?” Byleth nodded, devoting as much of their eye contact to the floor as they could. “Hm. Bold.” Their breath fell out of them in a great wave. They took back what they’d thought before about subterfuge. They clearly had a long way to go still.

There were nearby footsteps as a couple of boys on patrol approached. They waved as they passed. Byleth waved back.

They flopped down onto their back as their steps faded. Between the light from all the fires around camp and the slightly cloudy sky, they couldn’t see any stars tonight. Just an endless muddy canvas stretching out forever. As if the universe itself was conspiring to not give Byleth anything else to drown them in and distract from their own conscience. How annoying.

“I don’t regret it,” they muttered, half to their companion and half to the judgemental night sky. “I’m glad he’s dead.” It was the same rush. That of a secret finally released after too long wound up.

They’d sort of expected Jeritza to say something too. But he didn’t, and when they rolled over to look at him, he was still gazing out past the fire. Byleth didn’t know why, but there was something tight in their chest at his lack of response.

“I should, right?” they continued, trying to bait him into paying attention. “I betrayed Faerghus; I’ve done a terrible thing that will only cause problems, and I feel nothing about it.” He was still ignoring them. How awful. They rolled back to stare at the sky again. It was still bland and uncaring, a void that one could comfortably chuck their wants and fears into and feel safe knowing they’d never come out. “I didn’t even know I _could_ ,” they admitted quietly. “...I could’ve done it all this time.” It hurt to release that one. Clawed at their throat on its way out. There’d been so many times they knew they’d been making a mistake by following orders they hated, trapped by wanting to keep order. And their only limit back then had been _what_ , having to see an enemy general tortured in front of them? What kind of limit was _that_?!

The ground felt cold underneath them, even though in their head they knew the temperature couldn’t have dropped that fast. The sky echoed back, uninterested in the way their mind crumbled as it stole their secrets. Byleth could always defy orders. They simply hadn’t had the mind to. Had chosen mistakes, and guilt, and-

“Were you able to face a battalion the first time you picked up a weapon?”

Jeritza’s sudden question caught Byleth off guard. Punched their thoughts right out of them. They rolled their head to look at him. He hadn’t bothered to face them back.

“I don’t remember,” Byleth mumbled. They paused. Their father would never have unleashed them into the world if he didn’t think they were ready. “I must’ve needed practice.” Oh. So that’s what he was saying. “...Thank y-”

“I have no interest in fighting someone who thinks themself beyond improvement.” Byleth felt themself smile and gazed back up at the clouds. “That is all.”

As their eyes were slowly getting used to the light, they could almost pick out some of the brightest stars.

“Then I’m glad you want that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I was like 13 I used to do all my writing on my phone and every now and then I wonder how on earth I managed so much of it. then I remember my magnum opus of the time was only like 17k words and took a similar amount of time that I'd spent on this fic so far. turns out some limits are mechanical.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup, I'm back from a brief break due to needing antibiotics, having those trigger a manic episode the likes of which I haven't seen since I was a teenager, and then needing to follow up on the bad decisions I made DURING that manic episode. life's great, and my phone can't handle the sheer length of this gd fic.

It was well into the day when Byleth opened their eyes. Their clothes were damp where dew had collected over them while they slept. Jeritza had gone walkabouts, and there was no one around right now. Technically that meant no one would know if they maybe just rolled over and caught a few more minutes of rest-

A sharp pain in their chest put _that_ idea to bed. Byleth stumbled to their feet while wondering whether if it was still blasphemy when they did it.

All the morning’s porridge had gone by the time they got to the main fire. It was almost enough to make Byleth wish Jeritza had woken them instead of leaving them by a dead fire-pit. Speaking of which, where _was_ the man right now? They weren’t as on edge about his disappearance as they had been earlier during their stay in Gautier; it had mellowed into more of a curiosity as to what could’ve caught his interest. And they were quickly coming to the worrying conclusion that they trusted him approximately as far as they could throw him, assuming he politely curled up into an easy to throw ball. Hm.

“Anything exciting happen on your watch?” Byleth jolted to attention at the sudden question from a man coming to tend the fire. They vaguely recognised him from the card game the other night, but couldn’t for the life of them recall his name. Their memory might’ve been jogged if he was wearing less clothes, but it was probably rather rude to ask that. “Our side of camp had a fat load of nothing.”

“I fell asleep,” Byleth admitted. The man laughed.

“That boring for you too, huh? Man, these wizards ain’t half patient.” Byleth shuffled on their feet and resolutely did not say anything. Another couple of men were trickling over, a bunch of sticks tucked under their arms. “Any trouble out there?” the first man asked them.

“Nah, but we’re gonna have to move camp if we don’t want to run out of firewood. Can only get so much off the hedges- hell, half of this is still green.” The newcomer sighed. “I know it’s not safe to be moving, but-”

“We’ll probably be okay if we’re in a pack-”

“I’m more worried about the pack _ing_ , mate. Good time for a sneak attack if you ask me.” Morosely he let his sticks tumble to the ground by the fire, his friend following suit shortly after. “Not much choice though, if we don’t fancy-”

A boom shook the earth, the air, the tents. Byleth turned in time to see fire erupting into the sky disconcertingly close to camp. Well, _that_ probably needed addressing.

“Oh sweet Seiros, do they have a _catapult_?!” cried one of the men.

“Looked more like Meteor,” Byleth replied, drawing their sword and picking their way through camp.

The place was in uproar, understandably, but Byleth was a little preoccupied with their own confusion. They did not get up today expecting their made up enemies to fling fireballs at them. Really it seemed a little unfair.

As they stood on the outskirts, frowning at the charred patch of grass _far_ too close to some of the tents for comfort, someone grabbed their wrist. “You wandered off,” grumbled the familiar voice of Jeritza.

“Good morning,” they replied amicably. He was tugging on their arm, pulling them briskly away from camp. Deciding they didn’t want their shoulder wrenched from their socket, Byleth moved with him. “Are we going somewhere?”

“A meeting,” Jeritza grunted. The burnt grass under their feet crunched with each step over it, warmth seeping through their boots. Behind them someone yelled their names in alarm. “This one is ours!” Jeritza tossed over his shoulder. His naturally intimidating aura seemed to be enough to discourage anyone from following after them.

Due to the lack of foliage and the flat land here, the dark mage enthusiastically waving at them as they approached stuck out like a sore thumb. Jeritza groaned, barely loud enough for Byleth to hear. They made a questioning little hum.

“It’s one of _them_ ,” he said bitterly. “Always too cheerful.” Byleth squinted again at the black-clad figure, the jumping and waving of the mage causing their beaked mask to... wobble. Unnervingly.

“The dark mages are?” Granted, neither Faerghus nor the Church counted any dark mages among their ranks, but Byleth had always assumed it was a profession for the more sullen characters of the world. With all the black and skulls and forbidden arts, and all.

“And they never shut up,” Jeritza continued to grouse. His complaints trailed off to mumbling; apparently he didn’t care to actually share them with anyone.

“There you are!” shouted the dark mage once they were closer. “Anyone in the way? No, no, good, good.” Their voice was reedy and shaky, like they were hopped up on nerves, or a full pot of coffee. “Come along, come along, you’re late enough already!” The mage grabbed hold of both Jeritza and Byleth, and Byleth had barely a moment to register what was about to happen before the purple light of a Warp engulfed their vision.

They fell over upon landing this time, too. Damn dark magic and damn the way it made all their internal organs feel like they’d been rearranged!

It took a moment for the feeling of nausea to settle enough for Byleth to take in their surroundings. They were in a forest, an array of conifers rising around them, and an array of dropped needles burrowing their way into the folds of their clothes. They hadn’t seen any wooded areas even on the horizon while they marched; they must’ve travelled pretty far.

“Eider,” Jeritza said. He had _not_ fallen flat on his face like Byleth had. Instead he was nonchalantly staring down a person with dark eyes and drab green hair peeking out from beneath a black hood: the aforementioned Eider, presumably.

“Morning, Death Knight,” Eider said conversationally before looking down at Byleth with a smirk. “And, uh, you.”

“Professor Byleth,” they said in introduction as they clambered to their feet. Eider leaned back and nodded.

“Eh, I doubt I’ll see you again, so there’s not much point in remembering your name.” Wow. Harsh. “Anyway, DK, guessing nothing more to report?”

“No.”

“Still a nice blank canvas then.” They yawned and stretched their arms above their head. “I can take it from here while I’ve still got these bastards around.” They jabbed a thumb over their shoulder to where their original dark mage contact had formed a huddle with some others of their kind. They were indeed unsettlingly cheerful in their chattering. “So feel free to make your excuses and get back to Enbarr.”

Byleth’s head whipped back around to Eider. “We can leave?”

“You’ve finished your mission, right?” Eider said with a lazy shrug. “’Take down the troublesome margrave so the Empire can move in nice and easy.’ No point sticking around now your aim’s done and dusted.”

“That’s-” Byleth stammered. “I was just told to follow my conscience!” There was a lull between them, even amongst the dark mage huddle. And then laughter.

“You’re having me on!” Eider gasped around their cackling.

“That was their instruction,” Jeritza said, cutting through. Eider’s brow disappeared into their hairline. “From the Emperor herself.” Eider hummed.

“Well, I guess if she knows something I don’t... Eh, well done on the assassination you didn’t know you were supposed to do.” To be fair, Byleth had _guessed_ killing Margrave Gautier was what was expected of them; they just hadn’t wanted to go along with any Adrestian schemes. “So, DK, got a gift for you. Little thing to help with your extraction.” They clicked their fingers irritably at the dark mages, not bothering to look at them. “Hand ‘em over.”

Byleth could only watch in bafflement as the mages shambled over, walking... oddly. It was only as two of them were shoved into their arms, their full, stone-cold weight on them that they realised. What they’d assumed was a veritable platoon of masked mages was in fact only a pair. The ones that had toppled into their arms were long dead.

In a wave of revulsion they stepped back, the stiffened corpses collapsing to the forest floor. “Why do you have those?!” they cried out. The mask of one of the bodies had dislodged on the way down to reveal a slice of pallid, white skin.

“Oh don’t worry your glowy little head off,” said the only other living mage, with a voice that sounded like it’d seen many years of life and caffeine, “those are just some spares we had-”

“Spare from _what_?!”

“This will do,” Jeritza said. When Byleth looked, they saw he was holding the remaining dressed up corpse at arm’s length. Good to see someone else here understood that this was gross. He turned to look at them. “We’re off. Pick them back up.” Byleth grimaced.

“Do I have to?” But despite their protest, they found themself leaning down to tug at the scruffs of their necks anyway. No point drawing this out, after all. They felt Jeritza’s heavy hand on their shoulder and then, light.

“Do none of you know how to use white magic?” Byleth muttered angrily to themself as their legs gave out from under them, the two corpses falling on after them and soundly burying them. Their chest was really starting to ache from this nonsense.

There was a shout of surprise, and the fleshy sound of a blade cutting through flesh, and Byleth finally won their struggle against a billowing sleeve that had been trying to suffocate them in some ghostly revenge plot by its wearer. They were back by camp. And someone had clearly been about to bring an axe down on the mages before they popped their head out, because he was now swerving desperately to plant his weapon into the ground instead. Well, they thought, ever the more reason to roll out from under the cold, stiff corpses of dubious origin.

A bloodied sword pierced through the neck of one of the bodies and into the grass where Byleth had been moments before. With a sigh, they stared up at Jeritza.

“I knew you would move,” he said, drawing his blade back and ‘killing’ the remaining mage. Their blood was eerily dark, seeping out in large globules from their new wounds. Byleth looked away from the sight.

“Are you two okay?!” cried a soldier. “Are there more coming?”

“We saw one of those weird towers of light again and-”

“We all thought you were gone for good this time-”

Ah, now this scene felt familiar. Byleth got up and dusted themself off, noting they’d lost their sword at some point. Probably back in the forest, but like hell were they experiencing that dark magic Warp again for a sake of a cheap blade. That was the forest’s sword now.

“That was the last of them. Wasn’t it?” Byleth jumped at Jeritza patting their arm with the flat of his blade.

“Oh. Yes. The mages are all dead now.” He’d stained their sleeve, the monster.

“So... we can go back home?” asked a soldier, voice meek.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!” exclaimed another. “I’ve been missing my wife’s cooking like crazy!”

“Urgh, not mine! You think we can stay out here another week?” A wave of laughter washed over the soldiers gathered round.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it. Byleth grimaced at the memory of what Eider had said. “What do we do about the margrave being dead?” they finally said, voice cutting through the crowd like a dagger. They could feel Jeritza’s gaze on them, but he wasn’t acting. Not yet. Humming and hawing took over the crowd, faces awash with sheepish expressions.

“Group meeting?” someone piped up. There were a few murmurs of agreement and the throng moved back into camp in an almost rehearsed unison. Byleth heard the slick sound of Jeritza sheathing his sword and stepping closer to them.

“That revulsion... is something you feel,” he said, too quiet to overhear. Byleth’s gaze flicked aside to him. He was... examining them, almost. Their eyes darted towards the bloody robes of the mages, then just as quickly flinched back. One stranger’s corpse should be no different from any other, but there was something about seeing one dressed up as the living that felt unpleasant to consider. Like putting one’s hand on a hot stove.

“You’re very calm about desecrating old corpses,” they said back. Jeritza’s face remained placid, as it had been this entire time.

“I have long grown numb to awaking surrounded by the ruined bodies of foes I have no memory fighting. If I never dealt with them, they would rot.”

“Oh.” They supposed they rarely saw bodies outside of battle; it was obvious why they died, and that was the end of it. But they couldn’t pin down why this small thing was bothering them. Dead was dead, whether the body was respected or used as a training dummy. And those corpses were identical to any of the many they’d caused themself.

“You’re frowning.” Byleth rubbed at the space between their brows, massaging the muscle there back into looseness. No wonder their head was hurting thinking about this. Yes, that was all this was. They’d simply moved their face too much, and needed a break.

They sighed. “I’m going to that meeting,” they said, already stalking off. “Join me if you want to.” Unsurprisingly, Jeritza followed.

“Settle down!” called one of the old men of the camp - the dealer from the other night’s card game, Byleth was pretty sure. He stood by the smouldering fire pit, looking out at the arc of the others sat on the ground chattering to each other. He sighed, before giving a harsh kick to the set aside cooking pot. The unruly _bang_ was plenty enough to quiet his audience. “Now I’ve got you lot using your _ears_...

“According to Jerry and Professor Byleth, we’ve now sorted out all those dark mages that were out here killing people.” A halfhearted cheer went up. “But! On the other hand, they managed to take out our margrave.” A pointed silence. “Now, the problem is, it does look a _lot_ like one of us did it, so, ah, do I have any volunteers to tell the margravine when we get back?” The silence this time felt even _more_ pointed. “Um... Professor?” Byleth perked up from their seat at the back.

“We could just bury him out here and hope no one comes back to check,” they suggested. It wasn’t like it was even close to the most dishonest thing they’d done to a body lately.

The speaker looked bewildered. “I... was asking if you would break the news to the margravine, professor.” ...Easy mistake to make.

“I like the ‘burying him out here’ idea!” interrupted a boy near the front. His friends next to him broke into laughter. The speaker rubbed at his eyes.

“He’d probably leave any of us out here if _we_ died,” said another lad - was that Jan? A quiet rumble of miserable agreement arose from the crowd.

“Be that as it may,” the speaker sighed, “we can’t just do that to the _Margrave of Gautier_!”

“Why not?” called the voice of Nat. “Why’s he need any more special treatment? Didn’t he get enough while he was _alive_?”

“Do none of you know what ‘margrave’ means?! Kids these days, I swear...”

“Well he’s not a margrave _now_ , is he? Unless his ghost is gonna come back and order us about.”

“Don’t even _joke_ about that,” someone muttered.

“Listen,” said the speaker. “All that means is we’ve got a _new_ margrave now and we shouldn’t abandon his father’s body to the wolves!”

“Do we even know if the lad’s coming home?” questioned an older man at the back. “Hell, what’s supposed to happen until he _does_ get back?”

“I suppose the his mother would take control for the time being-” The speaker was drowned out by a veritable chorus of of groans. “Oh for- You’re lucky she’s not here to hear this!”

“Of course she isn’t!” called the exasperated voice of... was it Mathilde she’d said her name was? It was too hard for Byleth to keep everyone straight in their head. “When’s she ever anywhere useful?!” A round of agreeable grunts. “I don’t see why she should get a say in how we run things. Not when she’s not done a day of good in her life!”

“Well _someone’s_ gotta step up to keep us running, so unless anyone else has anything to bring to the floor-”

“You can count, can’t ya, Tam?” shouted a man in the crowd. The speaker paused, eyes darting aside in consideration.

“I guess I can.”

“Write too?”

“Well I’m not the neatest at penmanship, but I can do letters just fine.”

One of the boys at the front chimed in, “And you’re good at bossing us around!” to the amusement of his friends. Tam looked down at them disapprovingly. They trailed off awkwardly.

“I’m sure there’s more to being a margrave than accounting and writing letters,” Tam continued on. “...We have Sreng to deal with! No one here can wield the Lance of Ruin and fend them off!”

“Didn’t you hear the professor the other day?” spoke up Mathilde again. “That lance hasn’t been here for _months_. The Srengi should’ve staged a raid by now!”

“Flames, wouldn’t they have taken advantage of how all our best men are at war down south?” added in Nat. “They've got to’ve heard by now!”

“Maybe we should pull our troops back home,” someone murmured quietly, but very much audibly.

“I miss having my sons around,” said someone else among a bubble of chatter that Byleth could only pick bits and pieces out of.

“My sister’s not been the same since she came back without her arm.”

“At least yours came back at all; all I got back from mine was her old wedding ring.”

Tam kicked the cooking pot several times, desperate to get things back on track. “Listen to yourselves!” he shouted, face beginning to turn red with exertion. “Acting in this way... You’d do well to remember we’re fighting for the fate of Faerghus and the Church its very self!”

“Hey Tam, are you _sure_ you don’t want to be our next margrave? You’re way better than he was at this inspiring speech thing.” Tam grimaced.

“Wait,” interjected a young woman from the centre of the crowd before he could continue speaking. “If we win the war in the south, everything will go back to how it was, right?”

“Yes,” said Tam, face decidedly grumpy.

“Then we’ll get stuck with that Sylvain Gautier as margrave even if we don’t like him!”

“Yes,” repeated Tam, bringing a hand up to massage his temples. “That is indeed the way of things in Faerghus.”

“But we all wanted _you_ as the margrave!” A fresh round of agreement. “Are you _sure_ we have to go back to how things were?”

As much as Byleth was nodding along to the logic here, they was also a growing pit of dread in their stomach. The sensation of seeing a thatch roof start to flicker, knowing it was already too late to put it out.

“Why can’t we just decide for ourselves?”

“For a gift from the Goddess, his crest didn’t do much good!”

“You know, my wife’s always said she’d take my place in conscription if it weren’t the margrave’s orders...”

“It _would_ be easier to petition the margrave if he weren’t someone who’d have my head for looking at him wrong.”

“You should hear the things my daughter has to say about that Gautier lad!”

Everyone’s words were beginning to bubble together, a stream, then a torrent of discontent. And Byleth could only watch, paralysed. This did not appear to be a problem that could be solved with their current skill-set.

“The margrave wasn’t any help dealing with the mages in the end!”

“Who’s even in charge of all the records for Gautier right now anyway?!”

“What d’you think the rest of Faerghus even thinks of us? That we’re a backwater full of adulterers?”

Tam was calling for order as loud as he could, if the movement of his lips was anything to go by, but he was beyond drowned out by the din. Even the cooking pot was no longer enough to break through.

Eventually though, another person got to their feet and picked their way to stand before the crowd: Nat. A few heads turned to follow the motion, a few voices dimmed in anticipation.

Nat looked as small and reedy as ever standing there, the hard set to her face not disguising her shaking. “People of Gautier!” she shouted. Her voice stood alone against the wind. “All in favour of stripping the title of Margrave from the House of Gautier, say ‘aye’!”

A raucous cheer arose from the gathered militia. A resounding “aye”.

“And if the rest of Faerghus says we can’t do that, we tell them where to stick it!”

Laughter, cheers, and some more scattered ayes.

“And... And if they don’t like _that_ answer, then we’ll just leave Faerghus!”

Another loud set of cheers rang in the panic fluttering in Byleth’s chest. This was bad. This was _very, very bad_.

They scrambled to their feet. It felt too exposed standing here like this without a proper weapon in their hands. “You can’t abandon Faerghus in the middle of a war!” Nat put her hands on their hips and stared Byleth down.

“At war’s even better; this way they won’t spare the men to fight us!” A ripple of nods and hums. “And if we call all our people back, we’ll be able to hold our own no problem. We’ve held the border to Fódlan for years; we know what we’re doing!” Doing the sums in their head was a struggle. Was regaining Fhirdiad enough to offset losing Gautier?! “But if I’m honest, professor, I’m kinda surprised at you. I wouldn’t’ve had the guts to even say this if you hadn’t come along-” She was, for a moment, interrupted by several more people in their audience agreeing and adding in their own little additions. “So it seems odd you’re telling us now to go back to how things were before.” She narrowed her eyes. “Even it’s a death sentence.” Great, and now she’d learned how to blackmail.

“I didn’t expect you to throw a coup because of me!”

“This ain’t a coup!” shouted a man at the far side of the crowd. “It’s a call for independence!” His friends around him cheered in support.

Byleth looked around at the sea of faces glaring right back at them. They were... serious about this. And they didn’t know how they could go back and change course now. It wasn’t as if they regretted the actions they’d taken to get here and yet...

They recalled the people of Fhirdiad, their happiness at being ruled over by their king again. Was that... If Byleth had stuck around before that battle, would they too have welcomed his departure instead?

They sat back down. Stared at the hands they folded in their lap. Tried to keep their mind in the present and away from the endless swirl of what-ifs.

It was out of their control.


	15. Chapter 15

Byleth was trying not to think about things, and instead focus on taking down the group’s tents. Honestly, it was going surprisingly well as a plan. Unwind rope, pull out peg, rinse, repeat. Old work that they could let seep into their bones.

“Woah, girl, easy!” They looked over to the sudden commotion; the margrave’s horse hadn’t appreciated being led past where a couple of men were rolling his blanket-wrapped corpse into a shallow grave, and was trying to lash out at them.

Byleth turned back to their collapsed tent. They weren’t thinking about it for now. And with any luck something else dramatic would intervene so that they never had to.

Someone had managed to calm the horse, not that they were paying attention. After all, the folding and rolling up of waxed canvas was all encompassing. And, sure they were getting through the camp’s tents far too fast for their liking, but it was fine! They knew for certain where each step was taking them, with this: just a bunch of tents packed up and ready for moving, no sudden reveals or ulterior motives here!

They weren’t thinking about it.

It was finally time to go on the march once more. Byleth spared a final glance for the margrave’s final resting place: a rugged strip of earth with a single branch stuck at one end like a fence post. They supposed it was better everyone had bothered with their suggestion of burying him, rather than leaving him to be picked at by animals. Though considering how little soil was keeping him down there, that might happen anyway.

They hefted their share of the group’s things onto their back and trailed after the others. Everyone was on foot now; the horse had long been sent off with a messenger on its back. And it was _loud_. The air was filled with chatter and shouts and songs Byleth had never been far enough north to hear before. They couldn’t tell whether the twenty verses about the stubborn beet farmer were making the journey seem longer or shorter.

Ah, no. Someone was improvising a twenty-first. Definitely longer.

It was threatening to rain by the time the militia neared Gautier Castle, its harsh grey walls melting into the cloud cover. Another group was loitering at the base of the hill the keep stood upon. Mostly older women, stern features peeking from their shawls and headscarves, though properly kitted soldiers dotted their ranks as well.

The guard post alongside the path upwards was unmanned.

“Is the margravine still in there?” asked Nat to the new group. The soldiers stood to attention; the villagers perked up in interest.

“Yessir!” exclaimed one soldier.

“And does she know why we’re here?”

“Well, everyone who works in the castle got told, so she’s probably heard by now.”

“Um, w-wait!” stumbled a girl in the crowd. “We’re not going to h- _hurt_ anyone... are we?”

“So long as the margravine goes peacefully, we won’t be touching her.” Well, as peacefully as a decision could truly _get_ when several dozen armed people were the ones demanding it.

“What about the others?” Several members of their original militia froze. It wasn’t a surprise they hadn’t realised they could be fighting people they knew.

The soldier from before spoke up again. “I can confirm several staff said they were throwing their lot in with the Gautier family. ...Including quite a few of the guards.” He trailed off, bitter expression clear even below his heavy helmet.

“...Right,” Nat said, voice dour.

“Not ideal,” commented a man in the militia. A ripple of uncomfortable laughter followed.

“No. No it ain’t.” She sighed.

“We’re gonna be fine!” insisted the voice of Jan. Bodies shifted as he pushed forwards to stand up front by his sister. “After all, we’ve got the Professor on our side! And they’re _really_ good at keeping us alive, right?”

People were staring at Byleth. A _lot_ of people were staring at Byleth.

They couldn’t say they liked whatever they’d helped happen. But still. No way in hell were they adding to the body count. Treason or not, these people weren’t their enemy.

“...Those with fighting experience, go to the front,” they said. “We only need to get our opponents to surrender.” A bustle ensued, Byleth finding themself with a fresh sword pressed into their hand and a place at the front of the herd.

It was simple, really, letting themself gaze up on their approach to the castle to search for signs of a coordinated defence. But no one came to patrol atop the outer walls, and the gates had not been barricaded shut. No sound of soldiers leaked from the arrowslit windows, and no one sprang from the bushes as the group reached the great wooden front doors.

_Those,_ at least, were locked.

“An axe will be enough,” Jeritza said from disconcertingly close behind Byleth; they were _sure_ he hadn’t been there at the base of the hill.

“I’ve got one!” called a wiry old man further into the pack. He quickly pushed his way to the front and rolled up his sleeves. “So, where’m I chopping?” Jeritza wordlessly gestured to the middle of one of the doors, near its tall, wrought iron handle. “You lot give me a bit of space, would ya?”

The first swing landed with a splintering crash. A crack quickly ran up along the grain of the wood, all the way from the new gash to the top of the doorway. Another heave, and the next swing hit as neatly as the first, the cracking noise echoing among bated breath. “Felt close to giving that time,” muttered the axeman. Byleth nodded, and readied their sword.

“Get ready to charge in,” they said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. A final grunt of effort, from the axeman, the deafening creak of a door splitting forever in two, and they gave the order, “Charge!”

The cold wood dug into their forearms as they braced themselves against the mass of people propelling them on. The intact door swung noisily inwards, dragging its bisected partner along by the hefty bar that connected them; it quickly gave in to the forces upon it, tearing itself apart from its lock and smashing upon a floor covered in sawdust and straw.

Straw?

There wasn’t time to question it before a new shout of “Fire!” rang through the front hall. The twang of bowstrings, the flicker of firey arrows-

And Byleth had reached out to snag time before the first body could slump to the ground.

“You lot give me a bit of space, would ya?”

“Wait,” Byleth said, the old man pausing with his axe over his shoulder. “There’s an ambush here.”

“An ambush?” someone asked disbelievingly. “How’d you figure that?”

Byleth paused. “...Fighter’s instinct?” They’d really taken for granted the fact their old students didn’t bother questioning their decisions.

Nevertheless their weak explanation for seeing the future was eventually hummed and nodded at. “How are we getting in then?” someone asked. Byleth shrugged.

“Let’s try the back door next,” they said, already stalking ahead to go check. No deaths, damn it. Surely they could manage that much.

The kitchen door was ostensibly also locked, though it rattled easily in its frame. After all, who cared about a draught in the kitchen? The trusty axeman flexed his shoulders and readied his first blow. “Your instincts say this is all clear, right?”

“For the near future,” Byleth answered, not untruthfully. After all, if they were wrong, it wasn’t as if anyone would remember.

The door cracked easily under the first strike to its middle, splitting almost entirely in two. The next strikes revealed more and more of the way inside. There was a fire burning in a great fireplace to one side, but there was no one present to care for it. Pots had been abandoned half full, flour left spilled on the paved floor. Honestly, it was a bit of a mess.

The final shards of the door were kicked aside, and the group advanced.

Now they were inside, sound from the defending guards bled through the walls. Armour clanking, orders shouted, louder and louder as they made their way through the drab servants’ quarters.

Until at last they burst out into the spacious dining room, now dim and unlit but for the torches carried by the soldiers trickling into the room from the other end.

“They’ve got inside!” one of them yelled back to where presumably more of his compatriots hurried after.

“We don’t want to hurt you!” called a soldier from their own side. “Just put down your weapons and let us pass!”

“Like hell we’ll betray Faerghus to join your bunch of murderers! Traitors, the lot of...” The guard stopped suddenly. Then shifted into a more readied stance with his lance. “Let the professor go, right now.”

“I think you’ll find the professor’s with _us_ , buddy!” Even across the room, Byleth could feel a dozen sets of eyes settle onto them.

They sighed. “There’s no need for us to fight,” they said, just letting their voice carry through the heavy atmosphere. “Let’s _all_ go talk to the margravine together.” The defending soldiers shifted awkwardly, mumbling amongst themselves.

“‘Talk’?” one of them finally asked.

“She can step down peacefully.” A few murmurs of agreement from behind them.

“And what if she doesn’t want to?”

Byleth looked down at the sword in their hand. Then back up to the guards. “We’ll have to find out.” Honestly, they couldn’t be expected to know _everything_.

There was a considerable amount of muttering from both ends of the room.

One of their soldiers stepped forwards, greaves clattering against their boots and snapping the other side to attention instantly. “Is she really worth your lives?”

“What she’s _worth_ is holding up our honour as knights of Faerghus!”

“So you’d doom us all to misery for the sake of your own honour? She knows _nothing_ of how to run Gautier!”

“Her son-”

“Her son’s stuck at the frontlines of a war that’s already cost Fraldarius its lord! And as is, there’s no one else who has the right crest to inherit!” The defending guards were looking uncomfortable again. “For the sake of Gautier, join us in changing things!” A handful of whoops were thrown up from the militia’s rear in support.

The light from one of the torches opposite flickered as its holder stepped aside. “What are you-”

“I mean, things are gonna have to change at some point, right?” stammered the soldier with the torch. “What if he really does die in battle? It’s not as if he has ki- ...As if he has _legitimate_ kids.”

“I’m fairly sure Sylvain doesn’t have any illegitimate kids either,” Byleth interjected. Not unless he’d had a baffling change of heart while they weren’t looking.

“It’s maybe worth _trying_ to talk? I mean, maybe she doesn’t even want to stay on as margravine-”

“You really think she’s the type to give up her power like that?” one of his companions sneered at him.

“Listen man, I just don’t want to fight one of Faerghus’ best generals, and I’m a bit worried half my friends are _trying to throw themselves on their sword_?!”

Byleth looked around them. Then gestured over their shoulder. “There’s also all these people.”

“See, there’s also all those people! I don’t know if they’re telling me I’m going to kill or be killed by them, but I don’t like either option!” There were a few low energy cheers from the remaining guards.

Then, after a long pause. “Fine. We’ll take you to talk. If you try anything funny, you all die, and we don’t care if it kills us too.”

“ _I_ care...” squeaked the soldier with the torch. His friends ignored him.

They were led upstairs, and as the tapestries went by, Byleth recognised the way to the margravine’s bedroom. They wondered if they would actually be let in this time.

If not, they could just break the door down.

It was obvious the corridors up here weren’t meant to fit a veritable battalion through, and it felt hot and stuffy trapped in with so many people. Precarious. A single fireball could end dozens of lives. Byleth kept their eyes trained on the torch carriers.

At last the huge group came to a slow, buffered stop outside the bedroom door. One of the guards, who by this point Byleth surmised was acting as captain, stepped forwards and knocked firmly. There was no immediate response.

There wasn’t much of a delayed response either.

Straining their ears, Byleth could barely make out... a rustle of fabric? A sigh maybe?

The captain cleared his throat and knocked again, more insistently. “Lady Lucia?”

“...Not now,” the margravine called breathily back, muffled by the door. Her voice hitched at the end, almost like she was crying.

“I don’t believe this,” a woman muttered behind them. “Her husband’s barely in the _ground_!” What did her husband have to do with-

Another voice, that definitely did not belong to the margravine, cried out from within the room in a tone that was definitely...

Well. If they couldn’t guess what was going on in there themself, they could’ve asked any of the people around them. There was certainly an interesting mix of expressions: embarrassed, disgusted, fighting off fits of giggles... How delightful.

The guard captain knocked _again_. “Lady Lucia, this is an urgent matter!”

“I can try again with my axe if you want,” commented the old man from before, currently quite far down the corridor.

“There’s no need for that,” muttered the captain darkly. He hadn’t even bothered lowering his fist since the last time he knocked.

“You sure you don’t want to get her to step down?” someone said.

“...Lady Lucia! If you do not open this door, I shall have to open it by force!”

“Yeah,” one of the more loyal soldiers leant over to whisper in Byleth’s ear. “After all, it sure sounds like she’s being ‘stabbed’ in there, don’t it?” Byleth looked at them, confused. They’d heard her get stabbed before; there’d been a lot more screaming involved. “...Never mind.”

The captain drooped, head turning in defeat to look down the corridor. “Alright. Who was it who had the axe?”

Apparently that was enough of a threat to change the margravine’s mind, because there was an audible thump and a considerable amount of less audible murmuring. Footsteps approached the door and with nary a creak, it swung halfway open.

The margravine was looking a little worse for wear, hair tangled around her shoulders and skirts conspicuously crumpled. “You best have an excellent reason for-” She cut herself off as she realised just how many armed guards were at her door. And armed villagers. And armed passers-by who really had no business being there. Slowly her face morphed from anger, to shock, and finally, to fear.

“They’re here to discuss your position, Lady Lucia.” The guard had barely finished his sentence before the door slammed decisively in his face.

“Francis!” they could hear the margravine hiss from inside the room. “Gather everything you can carry.” Any further words were covered up by the ensuing commotion, presumably by whoever this ‘Francis’ person was.

“Surely they have to come back out here at some point,” Byleth mused aloud. The guest room had certainly only had the one way out.

“Pretty sure there’s a secret passage for this sort of thing,” a woman behind them said. “Anyone know where it leads?” A resounding chorus of negatives was the answer to that.

“Does this count as her rescinding power?” Byleth asked. Most people they looked to just shrugged.

“No one’s gonna stop us taking it as that, _right_?” added Nat from further back, eyes boring into the guard captain.

“We- We still need someone in charge-”

“We elected Tam, right guys?” A rather more _positive_ chorus responded this time.

“And if Master Gautier comes back-”

“We’ll elect him then if we think he’ll do a better job than Tam.” The captain considered this for a moment, but finally sighed.

“Very well. But I still draw the line at laying a hand on the mar- on the _former_ margravine.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Right everyone, back downstairs! Let’s go find where the records and stuff are!”

And as such, Byleth was swept back through the castle by a cheer and a sea of bodies.

At least Byleth was now certain they never wanted to go into politics. The sheer quantity of documentation on taxes and crop yields and military spending was enough to make their head spin, even hours later.

They were back in the good old guest bedroom now, a fire in the grate and a cup of spiced tea on the floor next to them.

“If you spill that on the rug, I won’t help you clean it,” grumbled Jeritza behind them. He was at the desk, clearing things out of the drawers.

“I won’t spill it.” Byleth took a gulp of their tea, not bothering to stop staring at the fire before them. They could feel the heat seeping into their toes through their socks. It felt nice. Calm. Like maybe they could just stay here forever.

They shook their head, the mood soured. There was a war on, no matter how peacefully things had unravelled here. There was a war on that they needed to go back to. They needed to fight, and be _useful_ , and-

They fell back supine to watch Jeritza.

They needed to hurry up and _kill_ _him_.

It didn’t take long for him to pause what he was doing and stare back at him. “What?”

“...I don’t need an excuse to stay anymore.” But they _wanted_ one, as little as that made a difference.

Jeritza paused, thinking. “You are saying you will try to kill me,” he said, almost a question. Byleth couldn’t pin down what was in his voice. Opposed, accepting, they couldn’t tell. And his face was placid. If they were like this too, no wonder so many people were unsettled by them.

He turned back to the paper and ink on the desktop. Byleth frowned a little. But did nothing else but stare up at the ceiling. The war, the war. They had to go fight for... something. For their students? For Faerghus? For the Church?

They were fairly sure their latest escapades had at least left that last one intact. Possibly. They hadn’t heard any more rumblings of discontent with _them_ , beyond not sending any more troops. Which was still definitely a problem, for all of the above.

Byleth was starting to feel like more of a traitor than when they helped stab the margrave.

They were sure they knew the _correct_ thing to do. The proper course of action they were _supposed_ to take.

But then, they’d been following their conscience since they reached Gautier, and it had led _here_ of all places. Somehow at odds with where they wanted to go. Was it possible to have a broken conscience?

They missed not worrying about things like that. They missed following the orders of others, and living like that, and leaving it at that. They missed fitting into their own spot, with enough responsibility to keep themself and a few scant others safe, and not enough to crush them under the weight of all the little cogs and screws that made up fate. They missed... They missed being unimportant.

“What do you think?” they mumbled, staring back at Jeritza again.

“About what?”

“Should I go back to trying to kill you?” He turned his head and glared down at them.

“Are you trying to bait him into striking first?” Byleth rolled their head across the floor in a questioning tilt. “You refuse to take this seriously.”

“I am being serious. I keep messing up, so you do it instead. Make the decision for me.” They kept eye contact, the both of them, as the firelight flickered around them.

“...It’s late,” Jeritza finally said. “You should go to bed.” Byleth considered it, and nodded.

“Then I’ll do that.” They heaved themself into a sitting position, and planted their hands on the floor to stand up.

Their foot hit their forgotten cup of tea on the way up. In an instant the wonderful smell of spices filled the air, and their socks felt disgustingly damp from the spill now seeping into the rug.

Jeritza, a smug expression on his face, was opening his mouth to comment. Byleth beat him to it.

“This didn’t happen.”

And they reached out to the flow of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost out of Gautier! (I did not expect it to take so long)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short, transitory chapter this time

The dining room was bustling when the two of them walked in. An array of breads and spreads was laid out on the table, an array of Gautier people filling their plates and yammering excitedly. The air hung heavy with the scent of starch and cheap tea.

A middle aged man with jam in his beard waved at them, beckoning them over; to Byleth’s surprise Jeritza picked his way over after only a brief moment of hesitation. Curiosity licking at their insides, Byleth trotted after him.

“So, you give any more thought to sticking around, Jerry?” the man asked. “Sure, you may be an outsider _now_ , but no one here’s gonna turn down an extra pair of hands. ‘Specially if that pair of hands is good at fighting _and_ writing.”

Jeritza turned his attention to the food on the table. “It is better for us all that I leave today.” He reached out for a plate from one of the half dozen mismatched sets on offer.

The man sighed. “Mysterious to the end, huh? Ah, can’t say I didn’t try. Before you leave though, care to resolve the betting pool some of us had going on where you’re from?” Jeritza wore a sour expression as he drizzled an apiary's worth of honey onto a slice of bread. “Foreign merchant that got lost at sea and stranded here in Fódlan? Noble framed for a terrible crime on the run from the Church’s judgement? Some dark mage’s puppet brought to life with magic that grew a conscience?” What was _with_ these options?!

After an irritable silence, Jeritza finally answered. “What did you have money on?”

“Disgraced prince of Morfis on a journey to reclaim his honour.”

“Fine. That one.”

“Oh, come on, don’t take the fun out of it like that! Professor, you got any clues for the real answer?”

It took a second for Byleth to register they were being addressed. “...Maybe it’s more interesting for it to remain a mystery.” If they were leaving today anyway... These people didn’t need to know how close they came to death.

“Ah, that’s what I get for asking someone known for being unknown, I guess. You leaving soon, too?” Byleth nodded.

“Alongside Jerry. Safety in numbers.”

“Right, right... Shame we already sent out the messenger headed to Garreg Mach, since I guess that’s where you’re ending up.” The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood from his seat. “Well, best of luck to you both. And if you ever feel like coming clean about whatever storied past you have, send a letter, yeah?”

And so, with a wink and a click of his tongue, he wandered off. Jeritza’s shoulders dropped in relief. For a moment he caught Byleth’s eye. Along with the restrained smirk on their face. “Don’t,” he growled.

“I’m not saying anything,” Byleth returned. He narrowed his eyes, but eventually returned his focus to his breakfast. “Your majesty.” They darted down the other end of the table before Jeritza’s lunge could connect.

The inside of the tavern was wonderfully warm compared to the brisk winds of the journey into the village. A patron sitting off by the dim fireplace waved as they entered. Byleth recognised them as Eider, and the woman beside him... They could’ve sworn she usually frequented the Garreg Mach market.

As both Byleth and Jeritza traipsed over, the woman raised her eyebrows. “Well how about that? I didn’t think you’d be setting me up with the Professor I’ve heard so much about!” Heard about? They’d met before!

“They _were_ a mercenary, you know,” Eider countered with a slick grin. “I should hope they still remember how to do a little security detail.”

“It’s not- Hey, professor, you actually on board with this? I’m headed to Magdred; the area’s still contested territory, as far as I know. Dunno if someone like you’ll be safe there.”

“You aren’t returning to the monastery?” they asked.

“You can’t return to a place you’ve never been, now can you?” Byleth squinted closer at her. Sure, she was wearing a fluffier outfit than usual, but this was definitely the same merchant who asked them for favours every now and then! “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start charging.”

“Are you _sure_ you haven’t been to Garreg Mach before?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed, prof. Now, ready to stop off at Magdred?”

Magdred... Tantalisingly close to the monastery, but Byleth knew with a comforting certainty that they weren’t ready to return just yet. Weren’t ready to take back their mantle.

“That’s fine.”

The merchant grinned. “Great! Name’s Anna, good doing business with ya.” So she _was_ the same merchant! ...Right? “Well, if you’re ready, we should head off. Time is money, yeah?”

Thankfully Anna didn’t try too hard to engage either of them in conversation. The daylight wore on with only the clopping of the horses and the creaking of her wooden caravan to interrupt the sounds of being on the road.

That was, until a number of armed bandits jumped from the scrubs on either side of the road. Armed bandits, of course, not being the quiet sort once they get going.

They weren’t even worth interfering with time to undo their ambush, in Byleth’s opinion. Sure, they didn’t have a sword on them right now, but even their bare fists were enough to knock a couple men down before Anna had even dismounted her horse to join the fight. And not to mention the force that was Jeritza...

All in all, the bandits really hadn’t stood a chance. To their credits, a couple of stragglers who had a little more of self preservation tried to run away, back towards the nearby tree line.

It didn’t work.

It was somewhat novel to Byleth, being able to watch the Death Knight at work without the pressure of needing to stop him. Novel, and _fascinating_. The sharp sweeps of his blade, the confidence in his footwork, the sheer power as he advanced despite whoever stood in his way-

And he was gone. Off into the trees. Leaving Byleth and their merchant friend standing among a bunch of corpses. It had grown very quiet again.

“Is he..?” started Anna, frowning off after him.

“I’ll go get him.” Looked like _someone_ had gotten carried away after so long without (real) bloodshed.

It wasn’t too hard to guess which direction he’d gone; there was quite the battered path of trampled undergrowth guiding the way. Battered enough, in fact, that it had probably been like this before Jeritza arrived. Indeed, as they continued deeper into the woods, the sounds of bloody murder began to reach their ears. Byleth sighed and broke into a jog. Hopefully no wayward civilians had gotten tangled up in this.

As they broke into the clearing the bandits had set up camp in, they were met with the business end of a blood drenched sword. Jeritza’s, obviously. No one else in the immediate vicinity looked up to threatening them, judging by the blood and occasional missing head. Well, all the corpses looked pretty bandit-y, so this was probably all above board.

“Are you done?” they asked cheerily, snapping their gaze back to their companion. In lieu of answering properly, the Death Knight took a step back, and slowly lowered his weapon. They could feel his stare boring into them as they sauntered past and began to investigate some of the raggedy tents.

There wasn’t much of worth. Some hanks of cured meat here, a few horse blankets there, a handful of rusty weapons scattered amongst everything...

Their wandering hands came to a stop. They’d thought this pile was going to be all cheap rags, but there was a whole bundle of finer cloth in here. With a grunt of exertion, they pushed the crud off it, and shook some of it back into shape.

Stolen clothes, by the look.

More to the point, clothes they’d seen before. _Recently_. The heavy fabric of one dress looked especially familiar in a way that made their gut tighten. The skirt was no less wrinkled than when they’d last seen it on its rightful owner the previous day.

“What are you looking at?” came a sudden voice over their shoulder. Byleth jerked round to look up at where Jeritza had snuck up on them; they should try getting him to wear a bell at this rate.

Byleth shook their head, cramming the clothes back into a compact pile and hefting them up. “That merchant might give us a good price for these.” Jeritza accepted that response with a simple nod, and turned back to the way they came.

Dead people didn’t need to change their clothes too often. And while there was a chance that the old margravine was still frolicking naked through the woods somewhere, Byleth doubted it.

Ah well. They’d tried.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh it's a long boy, which is why it took a while.
> 
> and what's that? a medical horror tag added to the warnings? ah I'm sure it's fine and that'll neeeeeeeever come up again. (also, I might be lying.)

Byleth could now say with certainty that they disliked being escorted into Enbarr by a retinue of enemy soldiers. They may never had needed to consider it before, but they had an answer regardless.

They didn’t recognise the wing of the palace they were led through, an area with slightly plusher carpeting running the length of the corridor. And they weren’t sure they were in a position to ask the soldiers that surrounded them. Irritatingly, Jeritza had been pulled away quite some time ago, so they were stuck with whatever orders this little troop had been given.

They stopped outside a door, as identical as the rest in the corridor, as was the style of the palace. One of their guards knocked thrice, then opened the door.

Inside the room... was a bedroom. A couple of maids, dusters in hand, turned towards them and curtseyed. Even discounting the cleaning taking place, it didn’t look lived in; they couldn’t see any personal touches anywhere, only the standard furniture one would expect to provide a guest.

Byleth felt a pressure on their back as a guard pushed them through the doorway. “You are to wash up before meeting with the Emperor,” they said. Byleth supposed they must look a bit of a mess, what with having been on the road or otherwise marching for the best part of three weeks. For instance, they were fairly sure their uniform had been a completely different shade of black when it was given to them. “There will be guards posted outside your room; do not attempt to leave.” The door clicked shut behind them, leaving them in the company of one maid who returned to dusting the curtains and the other who vanished through a side door.

Byleth sighed. They thought they would’ve proved they weren’t going to escape by now.

Deciding to shelve that annoyance for now, they ambled around the room, idly examining the furniture. Looked old and sturdy. The vanity had a exceptionally clear mirror on it. Byleth needed to trim their fringe soon.

“Is everything to your liking, professor?” The maid’s voice jolted Byleth out of their musing.

“My liking?”

“Is there anything else I can get for your room?” Their room, huh...

Oh! “I’m not going back in the dungeon!” That was nice.

“I- I don’t think so?”

Byleth surveyed the room in a new light, the emptiness of it making more sense now. There was even a nightshirt laid out for them on the bed. How kind! Inhibitions about snooping thoroughly thwarted, they wandered through the side door the maid had gone through before. It appeared to connect with a tiled washroom, complete with a flushing toilet. Full plumbing: very fancy!

The air in here was hot and steamy and fragrant from the oil the remaining maid was portioning into the bathwater. She looked up at Byleth entered, hastily setting down the bottle in her hand and getting to her feet. “All ready, professor,” she said with another curtsey. “Please excuse me.” She left without further ado.

A childish glee settled in Byleth at the prospect of a hot bath, and they quickly stripped off and sped towards the tub.

The sensation of being swallowed up by the warm water was pure bliss.

  
  


Byleth didn’t know what was in that bath oil, but their skin had never felt so soft and pliable! They had to wonder what else their body would’ve been capable of if they’d dared to use any of the apothecary’s worth of herbal products on the shelf beside the tub, but they supposed they could experiment with that some other time.

Satisfied their hair was dry enough not to drip on them, Byleth wrapped their towel around them and padded out to the main room. They noted that at some point someone had come in and whisked away their dirty laundry. The servants here sure were discreet.

“Oh, professor!” gasped the maid who’d run their bath earlier. She was currently moving various implements from a box on the floor to the vanity; Byleth only recognised a hairbrush, and a pair of scissors. “I’m afraid no one’s arrived with your new clothes yet. I’ll give you some privacy if you wish to change into your nightshirt in the meantime.” She curtseyed (yet again), and carried her empty box with her out of the room.

Deciding that was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, Byleth went ahead and pulled on the linen shift ready for them on the bed. It was definitely a summer garment, with capped sleeves and a hemline that barely reached their knees. Breezy.

Was this just how Adrestian nobles lived, they had to wonder. Surrounded by plush upholstery and all manner of lotions. They went over to examine some of the ones now set on the vanity. The text on the bottles was in such fancy cursive that they couldn’t read it. And sniffing the contents could only get them so far when everything was overwhelmingly scented with citrus.

Byleth decided to ignore those for now.

At least they couldn’t use a hairbrush wrong. Probably. Picking it up and dragging it through their hair a few times didn’t appear to activate any magic sigils or anything, so they were going to tentatively declare it safe.

They stared at themself in the mirror. With their hair still slightly weighed down with water, their eyes were starting to disappear beneath their fringe. Well, no time like the present to fix that. It took a second of looking down at the dressing table to remember they hadn’t been given a knife, only scissors. Eh, that should work too.

They pulled a lock of hair taut in front of their face, and carefully cut it at brow length. Then another lock... And another...

They caught sight of their progress in the mirror once they were around halfway through. And frowned. No variation in length, just a straight line across their eyes. It looked _weird_. Using their fingers to clump the hair into tapered points did nothing to fix it. Was it because of the scissors..?

They took a fresh piece of hair, and this time, instead of using the scissors properly, finagled them so they could use just one blade as a knife. The cut hair fell back, in the correct shape this time.

This had been a learning experience, they told themself as they reached for a time before they’d done their hair wrong.

  
  


Byleth was gazing out the window when there was a knock on the door. “Professor Eisner, your presence is required!” Byleth looked down at themself. They were still only in a nightshirt. Before they could answer, however, they heard the door creaking open. “Prof-”

“My clothes haven’t arrived yet!” they called. Their bare footsteps were near silent as they crossed the room. Heedless of their warning, a woman in a floppy warlock’s hat popped her head into the room. She looked them up and down, ignoring Byleth’s attempts to shut the door on her.

“This’ll do,” she said, to Byleth’s bewilderment. “Better, if anything.” Now, Byleth did not consider themself an expert on etiquette, but they were fairly sure attending a meeting with an Emperor in your underwear was considered a social faux pas! Along with the subject of many a nightmare... “Flames, would you stop resisting already!”

A sudden chill flooded them, like a bucket of ice had been poured down the back of their shirt. The shock of it allowed the warlock to force the door open fully.

Byleth shook their hands out, their fingers tingling unpleasantly. “...Did you just Silence me?” It felt strange, though. Not quite how they were used to.

“I thought Myson didn’t want us using that on them,” muttered someone out of sight in the corridor.

“What Myson doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” the warlock returned sharply. “Now come along, professor. No one likes a time waster.”

Reluctantly Byleth shuffled out of their room, trying not to acknowledge the soldiers either side of the door giggling at the sight of them. They wished they at least had their coat. Or some shoes. Or fully dry hair.

Thankfully their new retinue of mages either didn’t care what they looked like right now, or were more adept at concealing their expressions. They just kept their heads forward as they led Byleth through the palace, carpeted floors melting into unadorned paving stones, wall sconces losing filigree.

No. No, no, no, no, no. They were going below again.

They didn’t understand! Why set up a room for them to stay in if they were just going to be dragged down to the dungeons anyway?

They hadn’t even realised they’d started to run until someone pulled their arm back _hard_ , another wave of ice water washing over them and turning their breathing harsh. “How hard is it to just _walk_?!” cried the damned warlock.

“Myson’s really not going to-”

“I could not care less about his opinion right now! He can flaming well collect his projects his damn self if he cares so much!”

As the bickering continued, they turned to a corridor Byleth recognised. The doors after doors, dingy floors, and iron tang hanging in the air. They’d had tea here before. They didn’t think they were going to have tea here again.

One of the doors opened on its own, a muttered “there they are” coming with it in a nasally, unnaturally cheerful tone. The bottom of their stomach appeared to be trying to hide. Byleth really wished they could do the same as more and more beaked masks came into view inside the room. All they had right now as their mind raced was their heels trying in vain to dig firm into the stone floor. The friction burned.

“I’m working with the Empire!” they babbled, eyeing the bloodstained chair no longer in front of a table set with sweets. They didn’t even want to _look_ at the tray of equipment some of the mages were milling around in the corner. “I had a deal with Edelgard! You’re not supposed to touch me!” Dammit, they should’ve brought those scissors with them!

“I see we’re going to need the restraints after all,” said one of the few mages in the room to not be masked, instead favouring a hat. On his words, a beaked one unhooked a length of chain from the wall. “At least this one isn’t too fragile. Make sure it’s secure.”

Byleth’s guards didn’t even bother dragging them across to the chair, just lifted them by the arms and set them on the hard seat, knocking the wind from them with the force of it. They didn’t get a chance to regain their bearings before a length of chain was tugged harshly against their middle to lash them back against the chair and send them coughing.

“I said _secure_ , not _suffocating_!” the maskless mage hissed.

“Sorry, sir.”

Byleth craned their neck back as their legs too were secured to the chair, forcing themself to examine the ominous tray of tools for something they could use as a weapon if they turned back time to their entrance to this room. They could make out various glass bottles? Perhaps those could be broken to get sharp edges. Whether that would be enough to fend off... eleven people was another matter.

The mage in charge snapped his fingers irritably in their face. “I’m talking to you. Which is your dominant hand?” Byleth turned to him only as much as to look down his sleeves for a hidden knife they could take. Surely someone in here planned for getting Silenced. The mage huffed and stepped back. “We’ll use the right arm. If it can’t write for the next week, it’s its own fault for being difficult.” Immediately they felt their left arm wrenched back and secured somewhere behind them. Their shoulder ached already.

“They scratched me,” grumbled one of the guards who’d grabbed them, stepping away from the chair now their job was done.

“I suppose we’ll see if it’s venomous, then,” said the head mage disinterestedly. A couple other masked mages chuckled. Byleth twisted in their seat enough to see the guard’s annoyed expression. And catch sight of the knife hanging from their belt.

That’d do.

They took a deep breath against the fear clogging their throat, and clawed back time.

“There they are.” The door was already open, but this would have to do. Quickly they checked the correct guard was to their left. All clear. They elbowed the unfortunate guard, reaching out and grasping the hilt of their knife as they fell away.

Unlucky for Byleth, the first person to retaliate was behind them, well out of the range of their swing. So back they went to try again.

They ducked as they pulled out the knife, that guard’s blast of magic sailing safely over their head. As they swung their arm around, they felt the knife’s blade dig into the flesh of the second guard who’d grabbed them before (later?). The stench of blood in the corridor grew fresh.

“Son of a bitch!”

Byleth’s victory was short-lived; the first guard had recovered enough to bowl them over. Nothing for it but to do it over.

Guard Two swore as the knife was buried in them and just as quick pulled out as Byleth darted forwards and out of reach. The first guard barrelled sideways, knocking their injured colleague over in the process. Hopefully their grunts of pain meant they wouldn’t be up to catching up with them.

Good. Time to run and hope this corridor wasn’t a dead end.

A few steps forwards, and they were sharply reminded that magic made an excellent _ranged_ weapon. And that running with one knee feeling like it was being eaten from the inside by insects was _horrible_.

With their next try they leaped sideways at the last second and kept running. But the mages behind them kept up their assault too.

So time flickered again.

And again.

And again.

The corridor stretched before them, doors blurring back and forth with every dodge they forced into possibility. They’d already lost track of how far they’d gone down this stupid bloody corridor. They already couldn’t tell if the pain in their chest was from being hit or not.

Their mind scrabbled at nothing as another blast hit their back. No! They could still-

Even as they reached deeper, they felt a spike of energy drive itself through their thigh. Their leg gave out under them, and the floor rushed to greet them.

“Quick! While they’re down!” Footsteps clattered behind them, approaching faster than they wanted. They were down to working on instinct by the time they were surrounded and lashing out blindly with their stolen knife. And instinct was only so good when outnumbered six to one.

They’d disabled another two mages by the time the knife got wrenched out of their hands, but from that point it was clear they’d been beaten. One person on each of their limbs, Byleth couldn’t do much more than wriggle as they were dragged backwards down the corridor. They could feel their nightshirt riding up and bunching under their armpits.

“The reading appears to have stopped,” they heard a masked mage say.

“And no other visual indication of crest activation,” added the head mage thoughtfully. “A phenomenon we’ll have to look into.”

“Yes, sir!”

Byleth watched despondently as the door shut immediately after them, trapping them in the accursed chair room. They were manhandled and restrained as before, this time their right arm being pulled behind them.

They stared down at the grubby front of their nightshirt. It looked like the sort of stain that wouldn’t wash out easy. They hoped the laundry staff would give these bastards a good scolding in Byleth’s memory.

“Now, if you had _behaved_ , we could hurry up and get this over with,” sneered the head mage, ensuring he stood just out of reach in case Byleth managed to wrench free their left arm. “As it is, we’re all going to have to sit around twiddling our thumbs while your body metabolises away all the magical residue you brought upon yourself. So just remember, you didn’t _need_ to raise the ire of everybody working on you, but you did anyway.” He put a hand on their head and ran it through their hair in a grotesque mockery of an affectionate gesture. Then walked off to join the others fussing over the equipment in the corner.

Byleth couldn’t make out what they were talking about over there, already hushed tones interrupted by the clinking of glass and metal. When they turned to gaze at the mask of the person restraining their arm, they didn’t even get a reaction. It was just straining their neck.

They let their chin droop into their chest. Seconds passed. And more. And more. The tingling pain in their thigh was beginning to fade at least. They’d get to face whatever dreadful fate was in store for them with working muscles. How gracious.

“That should be enough,” said the head mage, turning back to them while holding a strange vial with various metal parts sticking out of it. “Arm out.” When Byleth didn’t respond, the mage holding them sighed and tugged their arm forwards, twisting it palm up. “Clench your fist.” How about they _didn’t_ do what the scary man with a sharp thing told them, actually? “This will be a far more painful experience if you don’t clench your fist.” They still weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of following his orders. “I have worked with _children_ more cooperative than this.” He clicked his tongue and lifted his vial thing, pressing a part of it that looked like a sewing needle to the inside of Byleth’s elbow. Another mage rushed to his side, reaching forward to pull the skin taut.

They screwed their eyes shut as they felt the first pinch of the needle entering their arm. They had no idea what sort of poison would be forced into their veins. Would they become like those in Remire? Twisted into a demonic beast? Some other horror these people had come up with in the past five years?!

...They couldn’t help but notice the lack of new sensation. Usually when they got hit with a poisoned weapon they could feel the wound burning. That was not occurring right now. They opened their eyes to check the needle was still there, and yes. It was still very much in their arm. But now the vial was slowly filling with red.

Oh. That was blood. They were taking their blood.

Byleth tried to look back over at the corner. It sure didn’t look like there were enough vials to contain _all_ their blood. But even one of them was far more than Hanneman had ever asked for.

When the vial attached to their arm was almost full, the mage acting as an assistant simply lifted it away, leaving the needle and a small metal cap still in their arm. Then they replaced the vial with an empty one and that too began to fill.

Byleth was lost. The adrenaline of being in a fight had long worn off, and even their fear was fading. Now they were just sitting here, watching their blood leave their body in an orderly fashion and trying to ignore how much they wanted to scratch their elbow.

“Is it supposed to be itchy?” they mumbled. They saw a few beaks flick towards them.

“It speaks!” exclaimed one of them sarcastically before turning back to their companions.

“Blame yourself for having a healing crest,” the head mage said. He twisted the needle and Byleth winced as they felt it moving inside them. But it settled quickly, and their blood continued filling the vial.

If this was going to spell their end, they couldn’t think of a more boring way to die.

They looked around the room idly. A couple of mages off to the side were dipping a stick into the first blood vial, for _some_ reason. The stick got placed into a metal box, and the box made an awful clicking noise, and the mages muttered something about it being high-

Byleth didn’t have a clue what was going on over there.

The feeling of the needle being removed from their arm grabbed their attention. The puncture left behind didn’t even bleed.

“There,” said the head mage, already walking away. “Was that so hard?” There was a rattle of metal on metal, and Byleth belatedly realise it was the chains keeping them to the chair being removed.

“...Was that it?”

“Just warp back,” the mage continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “We’re done with it for now.”

They were all but pushed out of their chair, barely on their feet when the all too familiar glow of light engulfed them and they found themself sprawled on the floor of their room. Another flash of light, and they were alone.

On unsteady hands they pushed themself to sit up. Looking at themself, the only marks on them were some reddened indents on their ankles and right wrist, and probably stomach if they bothered to check. They just felt tired, whether from overexertion or blood loss. Tired, and exposed. Out in the open where they could be snatched at any time, since clearly this room didn’t have any protection against being _warped_ into!

Byleth stumbled to their feet, then to their vanity. They had scissors. Maybe they’d just... sleep with those under their pillow tonight. Or, better yet, not in that bed at all! After all, that’s where they’d _expect_ them to be.

Frantically they looked around. Under the bed maybe? No, not enough room to stab properly. The bathroom? Urgh, that could be warped into easily too.

...The wardrobe?

They padded over and peeked inside. Sure, they could fit in there. Tentatively they stepped into the cupboard, the wooden base creaking only a little beneath them, and encouraged the door closed after.

Nice and cozy.

They slid down one side and sat propped up against it. They couldn’t exactly straighten their legs, but that was fine. They could sleep just fine like this.

Byleth stifled a yawn. Maybe a quick nap to recover their energy would be good for them. They could just put their scissors to the side, lean back and...

Relax.

  
  


A noise.

Byleth jolted to attention, scrambling for the weapon they’d stashed and bringing a fast swing towards their assailant.

And then their waking mind caught up with them.

Surveying their position, they may have messed up a little. For one thing, the weapon in their hand was a pair of scissors held entirely at the wrong end to stab anyone. And for a second, their strike had been blocked by the bundle of clothing the maid they’d just attacked was now clutching like a shield.

And she was squeaking like a puppy that’d just had its paw trod on. In case Byleth was wondering whether the situation called for any feeling of guilt.

Sheepishly, Byleth lowered their scissors. “Sorry.” The couldn’t see much of the room past her skirts. “Are you the only one in here?” She nodded shakily. Good. Right then.

Spinning where they sat, Byleth heaved themself up and out of the wardrobe. The view from the window was now one of sunset. They must’ve been asleep for quite a few hours.

“Um!” Byleth turned back to the maid. She hadn’t moved, and was now staring firmly at Byleth’s front. They looked down too. Ah, yes, the dirt.

“Sorry, I lost a fight.”

“Right!” she said faintly, hurriedly returning to her task of hanging freshly laundered clothes in their proper place. “I’m very sorry for the delay with the laundry, professor. There was-”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever she was about to say. “Professor Eisner, the Emperor requests your presence!”

What annoying timing.

  
  


Byleth pulled the collar of their coat more securely around their neck. They appreciated that the off-the-shoulder style of the clothes they’d been given was... _fashionable_ in Adrestia, but that didn’t make the sensation of air on their collar bones any less weird.

But at least they weren’t being paraded up to the Imperial chambers in their nightie. Small mercies.

Edelgard was already present and seated at a document-choked desk. She watched expectantly as Byleth peered around, but eventually cleared her throat and gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Byleth walked over and sank into it, silently noting that the seat was a good bit lower than Edelgard’s own must be. Else she had a lot of cushions under her.

As Edelgard sifted through and collected various items from across her workspace, Byleth had to wonder if this was how their students felt when they called them over after class for a performance review. Because if so, they owed a _lot_ of apologies.

“Now first, professor, if you would read this. I understand you had left before its composition.” She slid one of her documents across the table for Byleth to see. Its top corner was marked by a simple drawing of a ram that those in Gautier had started putting on correspondence they deemed official, in place of a Gautier crest.

They were fairly sure they’d helped with earlier drafts of this letter. It felt familiar with its mentions of withdrawing troops from the south, renouncing its hereditary system of governance, declaring itself an independent state-

“Wait...” No matter how long they looked, there it remained in black and white. _We no longer recognise King Dimitri as our rightful ruler and consider ourselves allies like any other._ Apparently there’d been some _progress_ after they left. “ _Eider_...”

“Reportedly discovered this addition had occurred on its own,” Edelgard said smugly, reaching to take back the declaration. “Congratulations on fostering a republic, professor.”

“I didn’t mean to,” they mumbled, pouting down at the desk.

“So I have heard.” They could still _hear_ that smile, even though they weren’t looking. “I must say, having only experienced a limited view of your leadership in the field, I was not expecting quite the behaviour Jeritza reported. But considering you have helped weaken the largest present threat to the Empire, I suppose it matters little how many times you were described as ‘aimless’.” She paused. “Though it may still interest you to know that I counted twenty-three.”

How unfair. They had aims! Sure, they hadn’t worked out how to convert any of the short-term ones into long-term ones, but what was life if not full of opportunities to learn? Their aim was to ensure the well-being of other people, so!

Byleth took a deep breath and raised their head high. “You should know, emperor, that the people of Gautier will not easily bow to your whims, just because they’re trying to leave Faerghus.” Edelgard’s brow raised.

“I am hardly about to leap into conquering a country as far out of my way as Gautier.” She sounded suspiciously like she was holding back laughter. “And considering how much of the territory was only recently ceded from Sreng, I have little grounds for reunification. So long as it does not stand with the Church, I have no quarrel with Gautier. To be frank, the more sensible option would be to start on diplomacy to set a precedent for when the Empire must inevitably deal with those beyond Fódlan’s borders.”

Byleth settled their head in their hand and frowned stubbornly at Edelgard. When she dressed it up in fancy words like that it sure sounded noble. But sounding noble and telling the truth were two different things, now weren’t they? “How am I supposed to believe any of that?”

“What reason could I possibly have for lying to you about it?”

“Maybe the same reason you told me I wouldn’t be given to your _allies_ if I cooperated with you.”

“And thus you sit before me, as opposed to a dungeon underground.”

“I was dragged to a dungeon underground by your allies just _hours_ ago! How bad do you think my memory is?!”

Edelgard’s expression tightened. “...I had not heard of this.” Byleth could see her gaze glance over their wrists, though they were covered up now. “What exactly took place?”

Byleth shifted uncomfortably in their seat. “They stuck something in me and took my blood.”

The Emperor’s brows drew further into a frown. “I see. Anything else?”

“Not that I could tell.” Their knowledge of medicine stopped well before whatever _they_ were doing.

“Good.”

“‘Good’?” echoed Byleth in disbelief. “They stole my blood! I was using that!”

“Professor, I simply mean-” She cut herself off with a sigh. One hand came up to rub at her temple. “I agree that this is against the spirit of our arrangement, and should not have happened. However, am I right in assuming you are no longer feeling any physical repercussions?” Byleth supposed their marks had already faded, and their nap had cleared up any lingering tiredness from blood loss. So they nodded. “Then it certainly could have been worse, now couldn’t it?

“I believe that will be all for now, professor. Please try to stay out of trouble while you await your next assignment.” As if it was Byleth’s fault they ended up in the centre of things so often... “In the meantime, I will inquire as to why your blood was taken again-”

“What do you mean ‘again’?” Edelgard had taken a sudden, _intense_ interest in her inkwell. “ _Edelgard_.”

“If you recall, you were unconscious when you arrived here. You were fortunate to have woken up before you were taken elsewhere.”

“Would you have let them? If I was still asleep now.”

Edelgard’s silence stretched out thinner and thinner.

“Sometimes it is better for everyone not to dwell on ‘what if’. You awoke and were able to prove your usefulness to the Empire. That is the present the future will be built upon.

“Now please, see yourself out. I have more work to see to.”

Byleth hesitated a moment longer before rising and turning to leave the room. There was a nasty, heavy feeling in their chest, a burning in their stomach they didn’t know how to name.

It was a shame, really. They could go back and un-ask that question a dozen times. Yet they could never un-hear the answer.

Maybe they’d just... sleep in the wardrobe a little while longer.


	18. Chapter 18

No one else was in the training grounds yet. Just Byleth, alone in the morning twilight seeping into the yard. The dummy before them stood in the same state as it had since they dragged it out; their Nosferatu hadn’t made a dent in the bloody thing.

With a sigh of resignation they shook their hands out and declared themselves on break. They felt so _unfocussed_ , like access to their own mind had been blocked off by an unscaleable wall. Even outside of a serious fight, this was an unacceptable level of distraction.

“You’re here early.” Byleth whizzed around at the sudden voice, fingers twisting back into formation. But no, it was just Jeritza. As far as they were aware, he was still prohibited from killing them. For all promises were worth around here.

“I woke up early.”

“How unlike you.” They noted he’d brought a scythe with him, as opposed to a normal practice lance.

“You’re using up one of those for training?” they asked curiously as Jeritza began some preliminary warm up exercises.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, tone dull. “Practising with a lighter weapon would only leave me slower in battle.”

Byleth hummed in acknowledgement. “But this way you get more broken scythes.”

Jeritza shrugged. “I don’t care. I give the broken one back and am given a new one to use instead.”

“Seems wasteful,” Byleth muttered to themself. Then continued, louder. “Can they even be fixed once they break? When I asked the blacksmith at Garreg Mach to reforge one, they were stumped.” Maybe it was a mistake giving the strange, stolen weapon to Dimitri. But in their defence, it seemed really sturdy (originally)!

“I don’t deal with fixing weapons,” he said, fluidly switching through stances.

Byleth hadn’t appreciated until just this moment that they weren’t an imperial quartermaster.

Their cramping hands back in action, they eyed up their dummy again. Maybe _it_ was the problem. It only made sense for an inanimate object to resist Faith magic better than a living target would.

Slowly they turned to Jeritza. They knew from experience their offensive Faith wasn’t enough to hurt him _that_ bad, so... “Do you want to spar with me?”

Boy, that man could move his head fast. Byleth was surprised they didn’t hear his neck snap!

Forcing a laugh back down their throat, Byleth dragged the dummy back off to the side and let Jeritza finish warming up.

  
  


“So if you can’t bring the horses there, where _can_ cavalry train?” Byleth asked as they walked alongside Jeritza, the pair of them still damp with sweat from training for so long. They felt more settled now, mind saturated with the familiar thought processes of a fight against a familiar opponent.

“There’s a more open arena near the stables,” Jeritza said. His voice was a little raspy from exertion.

“Ah, we’ll have to train there next time. I haven’t fought anyone on horseback in a while.” They supposed that was just the inevitable consequence of leaving the frontlines behind.

“Hm. No doubt it will be a short, uninteresting fight.” His words were dour, but that didn’t mean Byleth didn’t notice the slight upturn of his lips.

“You just caught me napping last time, that’s all.”

“You nap far too often, then.”

“Literally, maybe. Figuratively, I’m normally not that hard to kill.” It had been a tiring day. In a lot of ways. “But you didn’t kill me. Even after I couldn’t fight anymore.” They could feel where Jeritza had grown stiff beside them.

“I had thought you would fight better when it was simply the two of us,” he said, eventually. “But I was left un- He was- It was an unsatisfying duel!” Got there in the end. “I had hoped bringing you to the Empire would result in another duel: one in which you would be a challenge.”

Hm. “Didn’t expect the ‘no killing’ rule, huh.”

“...I did not.” Aw, he looked so put out! Byleth gave him a conciliatory pat on the arm. They couldn’t tell if he appreciated it or not.

“Maybe you can defect with me back to Faerghus. They’re far more lax on bodily harm between allies.”

“You would really return to a side that allows such things?” Now, ordinarily they might accept criticism of how _undiplomatic_ some of their students were. _But_.

“When it’s coming from you...”

“I recognise myself as a lost cause.”

Byleth was fairly sure it didn’t work like that, but what did they know?

The chatter of others had steadily been getting louder as they approached the mess hall, the soldiers of Enbarr uncaring of the fact it really was too late for lunch by now. Maybe it was just the norm to eat late, judging by the tables full of soldiers still with food on their plates. That, or the food here was just that terrible. Indeed as Jeritza led them towards the kitchen, there weren’t exactly many options available. It looked like they were down to fried crayfish and... more fried crayfish.

The sensation of guilt leaving Byleth’s chest about the precarious state of the Faerghan supply chain was _instantly_ overpowered by _newfound_ guilt over having marched an army over some of Fódlan’s richest farmland during the growing season. They saw far more crayfish in the world’s future.

They eyed Jeritza curiously as he stacked far more food than expected onto his plate. One look at the nervous expressions of the kitchen staff made it clear that this was more than he should be taking, but also the Death Knight. Byleth elected to ignore it; it wasn’t as if anyone else in here was hungry enough to actually eat it.

Eventually Byleth knew they’d have to get over the sight of Jeritza sitting down like a regular soldier to eat with everyone else. That didn’t mean they had to do so today! So they felt free to watch him efficiently pick apart his plate, fingers tapping increasingly irritably on the table, before finally he swallowed and opened his mouth to say, “What is it now?”

“Nothing.”

“Then eat instead of staring.”

They could do both. So they pulled off the tail from one of their own crayfish and popped the rest in their mouth. Without breaking eye contact. Because they could.

Already rising to the challenge, it was now Jeritza’s turn to eat and stare at the same time. Byleth couldn’t say this form of psychological warfare was having much of an effect on them. But obviously they weren’t going to back down!

It took until their fingers met only the cool tin of their plate for Byleth to look down. It was empty. They’d already eaten it all and barely even savoured it. _And_ they’d lost the staring contest they might have been having! “That wasn’t fair,” they mumbled, wiping their greasy fingers off on their leggings. “You weren’t going to be distracted by running out of food.”

Jeritza swallowed his mouthful. “You should have simply taken more food to begin with.”

“I already took a full portion.”

“Then just take more,” he said with a shrug. “No one has dared to stop me before.”

Byleth leant their chin in their hand. “That’s just because they’re scared of you.” There was a strange expression on Jeritza’s face. If it was on anyone else, Byleth might call it pity.

“Do you believe they don’t fear you equally as much?” They could feel themself bristle instinctively. Sure, they’d built up a reputation for being a fearsome enemy, but...

But.

This was Enbarr, not anywhere in the kingdom they’d been fighting for. They wondered how many of the soldiers just in this room personally knew someone felled by their hands. How many here only need catch sight of their hair to be reminded. How many of those could transform that feeling into a hatred strong enough to-

They pushed their tray away from them, trying with it to send away the after-image of a knife between ribs. They could just not think about it! That was what was so wonderful about following orders!

There was a muted _thunk_ as an extra fried crayfish was dropped onto their plate. They blinked at it, confused. Then looked up at Jeritza and blinked at _him_ , still confused. “I... am full,” he said in explanation. They looked back down at the crayfish.

No sense in wasting perfectly good food. They let the mild flavour of the batter fill their senses instead.

  
  


The palace’s gardens were rather nice, honestly. An elegant mix of neat gravel pathways and trimmed shrubbery, currently heavy with the sweet scent of summer flowers. There were a smattering of others out and about, mainly gardeners and officials taking an afternoon break.

Byleth stopped their aimless ambling in front of a statue of a man on a horse. They searched the plinth for any sort of identification, but came up short. Guess it was just a generic man on a generic horse. Hm, you’d expect a more dynamic pose if it was just there for aesthetics, but then again, that might be harder to do in marble. Byleth couldn’t say they knew much about sculpting.

“Professor?!” The loud voice and crunching footsteps provided _just_ enough of a clue as to who was charging at their back that Byleth resisted drawing their borrowed scissors from their belt before turning to face him. “It _is_ you! You look... well, pretty much exactly the same as I remember, actually.”

“You look well, too,” Byleth said, surveying what Caspar von Bergliez had somehow transformed into over the past few years. They did not have to crane their neck down to look him in the eye now, and that grated against their muscle memory _horribly_.

“So I hear Edelgard’s got you onto our side now. Does this mean you’re finally going to be training us?” Byleth glanced aside in discomfort. After seeing how much Caspar had changed physically, they’d expected that to carry through to how excited he was to see him. But no, he seemed fine.

“I wasn’t brought on as an instructor,” they said, not really knowing how much they were even at liberty to disclose. Did that trip to Gautier count as secret? They should’ve asked Edelgard the other day...

“Darn...” Byleth grimaced at Caspar’s disappointed expression.

“...But I suppose I could offer a little training while I’m here?” And _away_ went his frown, and it was only smiling Caspars here!

“Great! Oh I know, I’m supposed to be tracking down Lin out here, so you should come with to tell him about this yourself!” He didn’t look back to make sure Byleth was following him down the garden path.

“Why are you tracking him down?”

“Eh, we’re late for a war meeting. But someone saw him come out here earlier so I got sent out to find him and carry him back in!”

“...Shouldn’t you be in the war meeting yourself?”

“Yeah?” He sounded confused.

“So why do you have to find him, instead of a servant?” Caspar’s pace slowed enough that Byleth quickly caught up with him.

“It’s... it’s probably ‘cause he wouldn’t let someone he doesn’t trust interrupt his nap! Yeah, that must be it!” Why did he sound so much like he’d been tasked to bring a beloved family pet back home?

Byleth could hear voices on the other side of a tall hedge as they passed. “Do you want me to get Edie herself to drag you back inside? Because I will!”

“She has far too many things to keep herself busy with to bother with me. Besides, I wouldn’t provide much advice in this state, now would I?”

Byleth and Caspar were both left frowning at the hedge. A cursory glance down the path showed it was effectively walling the other area off, with no way inside in sight. Just as Byleth was turning to Caspar to ask him what to do next, they saw him shrug. And crouch down. And clamber into the bush.

“I can’t be the only one in there who has a moral- _ARGH_!” There was a great deal of rustling and the faint smell of ozone.

Looked like Caspar had found an effective way through the hedge after all.

“Ow! Dorothea!”

“What are you _doing_ down there?!”

“I couldn’t work out how to get in!”

“There is a gate _right_ over there!”

“What are you- Huh. Didn’t know that.”

Bewildered, Byleth carefully climbed into the dent Caspar had made, silently apologising to whatever gardeners would have to deal with this later. Sure enough, they emerged into an isolated clearing with a little stone gazebo in the middle. It looked crowded even with only Caspar, Linhardt, and Dorothea in it.

At the sound of Byleth coming through the hedge, Dorothea turned to look at them. “Who have you roped into-

“Oh.” They watched as the light behind Dorothea’s eyes shut off, her voice dropping in temperature. “The professor.”

“You look well,” they tried.

“Do I really?”

That was not the ice breaker they had been hoping for.

“Guess what!” Caspar shuffled between them to say enthusiastically. “The professor’s agreed to train us while they’re here!” Dorothea’s steely expression didn’t change. “C’mon, don’t you want to show off how far you’ve come since the academy?”

“No. I don’t.” She turned on her heel and strode off towards the wooden gate that was indeed set up on the opposite side of the clearing. “Tell Edie I won’t be able to make the meeting.”

“Huh? Why-” The gate swung shut with a clatter. Caspar’s shoulders sank.

“Are you going to leave me to it as well now?” Linhardt grumbled from his spot on a bench in the gazebo.

“Oh no, you’re coming with me. I’m not letting _both_ of you skip meetings like that!”

“Why not?” Linhardt said idly. He rolled over lazily, turning his back on his friend. “If Edelgard is sending both of you off to find me, she probably didn’t want you in her meeting in the first place.”

“What?”

“Just think about it. She puts forward a strategy that gets a lot of people killed-”

“That wouldn’t be right!” Linhardt sighed and shifted to stare up at the roof above him.

“And that reaction is why she wouldn’t want you there. Talk about undermining her authority...” He closed his eyes and fell quiet, and for a good long moment Byleth thought he’d gone back to sleep. But then, “Oh, professor? You can count me out of your training session too.”

To be honest, that didn’t come as much of a surprise.

Linhardt’s breathing slowed, and no, he’d definitely gone back to sleep. “Oh no you don’t,” Caspar growled. He bent down to grab the still-sleeping Linhardt and lug him over his shoulder. “You’re coming with me to talk to Edelgard about this!” Byleth hadn’t thought it was possible to snore passive aggressively, but alas, they were learning. “Hey, professor, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the training grounds, got it?”

Byleth nodded, and let him carry Linhardt off into direct confrontation. It was frankly a miracle he’d survived so much longer than his uncle and aunt.

...Great. Now they needed to find a new distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're onto a new arc next chapter ^-^


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random place name on the map of fodlan with absolutely no mention anywhere in the game? my city now.

Byleth had been called back to the same suspiciously dour drawing room as last time, before their trip to Gautier. They’d have assumed they were the first to arrive if it hadn’t been for the steam rising from the cafetière in the tea set laid out and ready. They’d bet anything Hubert was hiding behind that fake bookshelf again.

Since their escort had already abandoned them here, Byleth went ahead and sat down. It had never been economically feasible for them to become a coffee drinker, but while it was clearly being offered to them, they may as well pour themself a cup.

It smelled the same in liquid form as it did as beans. What a surprise.

The external door opened again, this time letting in Jeritza. He took a moment to survey the room, nose wrinkling slightly as his gaze swept over the coffee table.

“Morning,” Byleth said, as he approached and sat in the space next to them. He nodded in acknowledgement.

Byleth was a little surprised to see him reach out for a cup of his own. From what they knew of his palette now, they hadn’t taken him for the coffee type. Then again, that would explain the multiple spoonfuls of sugar he was putting into his cup first. And the cream he was pouring in. And pouring in. And pouring in- _Was there even any space for coffee left?!_

The thin sound of metal on china rang as Jeritza stirred the mixture in his cup and set his spoon aside. Then Byleth looked on in horror as he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of what was basically just sweetened cream.

Noticing their stare, Jeritza made a questioning noise, and wiped at his mouth.

Byleth shakily forced themself to look forwards. Why did it feel like they’d just witnessed a crime?

There was a woody rattle, and the dummy bookcase swung aside to let Hubert through, a sheaf of papers in his grasp.

“Morning,” Byleth said to him too.

“I see the pair of you are wasting no time in making yourselves at home.” It was difficult to tell whether he was actually irritated or his voice was simply doing that on its own. Byleth reached forward, ready to take a pointed sip of their coffee, but it was still far too hot to drink.

The outside door opened once more, Edelgard this time bustling through. “Morning.”

“Yes, good morning, professor.” She sounded a bit harried, a frown on her face as she seated herself in an armchair and let Hubert pour her coffee, and an appropriate amount of cream and sugar. She took a mouthful, and her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Hubert.” He bowed his head and stepped aside. Today, he bothered to seat himself on the other side of the table, rather than just loom ominously. “Let us not waste time on pleasantries.

“Professor, Jeritza, you are both to be sent to the Faerghus Dukedom in short order.” The Western Territories, Byleth’s ruffled mind supplied. Though, maybe they could accidentally call for rebellion again, and remove a bit of power from the Empire’s grasp. That would be nice. “Specifically, you will be stationed in Gideon.”

Byleth hummed to themself. “Don’t think I’ve been there before,” they muttered. If they had, it was back when their memories were foggy.

“Gideon is not typically of any import to military operations,” Hubert explained. “It is a city that lies on the border of several territories, making it something of a hub for local trade, but impossible to use as a stronghold.”

“Of course, now that the region is no longer contested,” Edelgard continued, “the Empire has been able to make headway in updating its outmoded infrastructure.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Would you believe they hadn’t even built formal _sewers_ before it came under Adrestian control!”

“That doesn’t sound _that_ bad...” Byleth trailed off under the disapproving glares of the Adrestian nobles they were stuck in a room with.

“Of course, after years, and some considerable expense, Gideon is no longer at major risk of starting a plague and killing every merchant in western Fódlan.

“However.” Oh good, here came the reason Byleth had to listen to any of this. “Some officials I have sent to Gideon to meet with the viscount overseeing the construction have mentioned... irregularities.” She gestured to Hubert, and he leafed through his documents, pulling out a few from the centre of his stack and passing it across the table. _Ivan Elsetti, age 32, Viscount of Gideon_. The paper went on to detail the fairly miserable life of a now family-less merchant who’d risen quickly through Imperial bureaucracy since Edelgard had ascended the throne. One possessing a savvy nature and an eye for quality.

All in all, very mercantile indeed. No wonder he’d been installed as the viscount of a place like Gideon.

“Viscount Elsetti is reportedly... Let’s say ‘living in excess’. Throwing extravagant feasts for his guests, commissioning public art projects beyond what the budget should allow-”

“So you’re worried about corruption?” Byleth butted in, setting the papers aside for Jeritza to pick up and read himself.

“That is the short of it, yes. Whether he’s abusing his station to manipulate business deals for his own gain, or outright stealing from public funds, this is not acceptable behaviour for an Imperial official.” No kidding...

“Why are you sending us?” Jeritza asked, still reading intently. “This is petty work.”

“It should be,” Hubert cut in, a sharp glare aimed at Jeritza’s petulant statement. “And yet none of the past five operatives sent to investigate the matter have returned alive.”

“Suspicious,” said Byleth.

“Perhaps throwing someone a little harder to _kill_ will yield better results.” They couldn’t argue with that; they and Jeritza were indeed real pains to get rid of.

Edelgard raised her cup to her lips, cradling it there for now. “Naturally, since it would be downright foolish to tell Elsetti he is under investigation, a cover has been arranged for you both.” She finally took a sip. “A levy has been raised from the Dukedom to push the border eastwards. You are to be housed by the viscount while you train these newly enlisted soldiers.”

If they were supposed to train _and_ investigate, that seemed like a lot-

The rest of what Edelgard was saying caught up to them.

“You’re pushing the border?!” they near shouted. They could see Hubert shift in his seat, no doubt ready to strike.

Edelgard tilted her head calmly. “I won’t throw away my soldiers’ lives by holding off my campaign until the enemy has recovered from its distraction.”

“Still, you can’t expect me to _help_ _you_!”

Edelgard held up a hand, just as Hubert moved to speak. “Truthfully, professor, I don’t. Not fully. However, I at least ask that when you inevitably shirk your task as an instructor, you use that time to look further into the viscount’s affairs.” Byleth frowned, but ultimately stared silently into their coffee. With Jeritza in the picture too, it was all too easy to fit together this semi-false scenario of a prisoner and their retainer, unable to be safely housed with enlisted soldiers who may be just a touch too sympathetic. On their own time, they’d just drop in for a surprise inspection, rather than taking such a circuitous route.

Byleth took a thoughtful sip of their coffee. It felt too thin in their mouth compared to its taste.

The others were talking about... training regimes or some such, but Byleth was finding it difficult to focus. Following orders wasn’t supposed to leave their mind this restless... It probably wasn’t that important anyway; they’d just make it up as they went along, like they had back at the academy. That strategy had turned out a bunch of perfectly good soldiers, after all.

“... _Professor_!” They jerked up from staring into their cup. “Were you listening?” Edelgard continued, voice taut.

“...Passively?” It may have been the honest answer, but from the stormy expression on the emperor’s face, that didn’t make it the right one. “Am I not supposed to just follow my conscience this time?”

“Only so much as your conscience instructs you to gather enough evidence to take Elsetti’s corruption to trial. This is not a mission for theatrical heroics, do I make myself clear?”

“No more uprisings, then,” they mumbled, to multiple noises of disapproval.

Adrestians really ought to learn how to take a joke.

  
  


Byleth was directed down to the stables early the next morning. This time, there were no carts or wagons there to greet them, just soldiers and horses.

“Professor Eisner!” a quartermaster called, waving them over. “I was told to hand this over to you specifically.” They reached for a large, cloth-wrapped package leaning against the side of a stall, and handed it off to Byleth.

Even holding the familiar weight in their arms again was enough for a wave of relief to crash over them. A cool breeze after months of being trapped underground.

The Sword of the Creator lit up as they took hold of its handle once more, as if in greeting. Surreptitiously they looked around the bustling stables. There definitely wasn’t enough room in here for any proper test swings, but if they just undid all the damage they did afterwards-

They preferred when Sothis verbally scolded them for being irresponsible. This particular stab of guilt was more painful than usual.

“Ah, General von Hrym, here.” Byleth turned back to see the quartermaster struggling to pass over a pair of the Death Knight’s signature scythes.

Two of them. How extravagant. And if he was expected to use them enough to _break_ one... “Those poor recruits...” Jeritza tilted his head enough to catch their eye. He wasn’t wearing his helmet as of yet, though he was otherwise fully armoured up. His gaze trailed down to their sword. He nodded minutely.

Yep, the ‘no killing’ rule continued to be a real shame.

  
  


The sun hadn’t even reached its peak yet, and already Byleth was feeling saddle sores come in. It really had been too long since they actually rode long distance like this. Heck, now that they thought about it, they weren’t sure they’d _ever_ ridden long distance, at least not on a horse of their own.

“W-watch it!” yelled a soldier from far closer than he should be. Byleth belatedly noticed in their distraction they’d directed their own horse to walk into his.

“Sorry,” they said, pulling it back ahead. Damn whoever trained these animals to follow orders so well.

In their peripheral vision they could see Jeritza slipping past the others to sidle closer to them. “Your posture is terrible,” he said. Byleth spared a flat glance, mentally forcing their arms to stay perfectly still on the reins. For some reason they could still feel their horse drift off to the left, threatening Jeritza’s own mount. With a sigh, they forced it back on course. They couldn’t help but notice the other soldiers in their little pack had moved further away from them. “You should move where you’re keeping your sword. It’s forcing your leg into a bad position.”

Byleth glanced down their left leg, the Sword of the Creator covering it where it hung down from their belt. Referencing their other side... yes, that didn’t match. But shifting their weight forwards only made the blade dig in uncomfortably. Annoying. They drew their sword, and tried to resettle in the saddle. Now they were holding a sword. “I don’t have anywhere else to put this.” They’d have to fiddle around with their tack the next time they stopped so they could strap it to their horse instead. Or... could horses turn into crest beasts if you exposed them to a relic for too long? They’d never thought to find out. For some reason.

Jeritza stuck his arm out, fingers stretched towards them. “I’ll carry it.”

“It may be missing a piece, but this is still a Heroes’ Relic. No one here wants you turning into a monster.”

“I won’t.” He made a grabby motion at them. Byleth held the sword further away, fighting their own balance to keep their horse from straying. “That only happens to those without a crest. I have one, so I’ll be fine.”

“You have a crest?” Byleth asked in disbelief. “I’ve never seen it activate before.” And they didn’t have a shortage of opportunities to see it!

“It’s not a useful one,” Jeritza insisted, urging his steed to encroach on them. “It doesn’t activate in battle.”

“How convenient.”

“No it isn’t! I just told you it’s useless!”

Byleth jolted as their horse stumbled on an uneven patch of road. For a moment it was fine, their grip still firm on their sword. And then they felt their stirrup start to give beneath their foot. “Oh no.” The saddle was slipping sideways! It shouldn’t be doing that! And trying to stop their momentum by grabbing onto the reins did not seem to be working-

Something tugged on their arm, halting their fall. Stomach settling, Byleth stood in their stirrups, letting their weight pull everything back into place. “Thanks,” they muttered. Jeritza released their sleeve.

Byleth grimaced down at the Sword of the Creator. Then finally held it out to Jeritza. “If you turn into a monster and I have to kill you, I have witnesses to prove I’m not liable.”

“I told you, I-”

“Also I want it back as soon as we stop.”

Jeritza clicked his tongue and muttered darkly to himself as he slid the sword in alongside the other weapons strapped to his back. “Next time I’ll push you.”

  
  


It was almost sunset by the time Gideon appeared in the distance, splayed out across the plains and escaping its own city walls. Hubert hadn’t been kidding; this place would be _impossible_ to defend.

“Flames, just how far out did they set the encampment?” a soldier behind them exclaimed. “I can’t see it anywhere!”

“It was supposed to be east, weren’t it?”

“I’m looking east! Do you see anything east?!”

“Well maybe it’s _further_ east!”

“Ugh, don’t tell me we have to travel all the way into the hills in the dark... Let’s find an inn tonight, yeah? Anyone got coin with them?!”

The soldier was met only with the continued sound of hooves against the road.

“Um, Professor! Permission to requisition temporary accommodation for the night!”

“Not sure I’m allowed to authorise that,” they answered. Their rank here felt... very unofficial.

“You’re not,” Jeritza confirmed.

There was a pause as they waited for the soldier to ask the actual general this time.

He didn’t.

Well, Byleth hoped the others enjoyed their night ride.

  
  


Why exactly was it known as a townhouse, rather than a town _mansion_? The viscount’s dwelling was far too large to be reasonably called a mere _house_ , after all, and with the expanse of paving and flowerbeds stretching between its gates and façade, it wasn’t all that _town_ -like either.

It was obvious the two of them were expected. The front door was open as they approached, light and footmen spilling out to meet them.

“Good evening, general!” called a particularly well dressed man, cutting through to where Jeritza was dismounting. Between his rosy cheeks and full head of blond curls, he could’ve stepped right out of a storybook. “This is the first time we’ve met, is it not? I’m honoured to be in the esteemed presence of one of the Empire’s very finest.” No doubt, this was the merchant they were looking for. In lieu of giving him attention, Jeritza watched Byleth intently as they stiffly clambered down from their horse. They couldn’t tell whether they or their horse was more relieved to be free from the other.

“Now, you’re just in time for dinner, if you don’t mind coming as you are..?” He looked between them looking for any sign of disagreement. Or any sign of anything. “Er, yes. Well, if you would just follow me, then. I’ll have your luggage sent to your room.”

“We’re sharing a room?” Byleth asked as they trotted after Elsetti. Gautier castle had been sparse enough that it made sense to have limited rooms for guests, but _this_ place?

The viscount chuckled, and glanced sidelong at Jeritza. “I figured you would rather keep them within reach. The door for the water closet locks from both sides, should you need it.” Jeritza grunted in acknowledgement.

Byleth got the feeling they weren’t exactly highly respected in this house.

The decor here was something of a collage of styles. Columns and door frames jutted out in stark stonework against neatly papered walls, ornate vases full of flowers sat wilting in dingy windowless corridors, and there seemed to be a draft in every room even with summer barely ending. Even the dining room felt off, cramped in a way that suggested it was never meant to house a table as long as Elsetti’s or as many servants as were now laying it with food and wine.

“I do hope this is sufficient after your long journey,” Elsetti said conversationally, taking his seat at the head of the table and directing Jeritza to sit at his left hand. The place at his right hand was _not_ set. “I’m afraid I was reluctant to have anything grander prepared in case you did not arrive until late into the night.” He laughed to himself in a way that was already starting to grate on Byleth.

Byleth didn’t know what the viscount thought counted as a grand meal for three people, since what was already on offer seemed plenty grand to them. Or maybe it was some form of showboating, and he actually knew perfectly well that having a dozen dishes out like this (again for _three_ _people_ ) was ridiculous. They weren’t going to pretend to understand the mercantile mindset. What they _were_ going to do, however, was sample one of those wonderfully flaky looking fish tarts...

There were definitely certain perks to putting up with people like the viscount.

  
  


Thirsts quenched and bellies full, Jeritza and Byleth were led to what would be their base of operations for the next however many days. While the corridors remained cramped on this second level too, they did at least run what seemed like the full length of the building, so it would be hard to get lost. Just heavily turned around by all the rooms leading off.

The butler leading them opened a door near the end of the corridor and stepped aside, bowing. “Breakfast will be brought to your room,” he said, voice steady and professional.

Byleth made a hum of appreciation as they followed Jeritza in. They’d seen entire houses smaller than this one room, and there wasn’t even a bed in here! Though, now they thought about it, it seemed excessive to have a drawing room just for one set of guests. This place’s architecture was plain _strange_.

Jeritza had halted in the doorway to the next room. Pushing past him, Byleth had a guess why. A perfectly good bed sat there, their saddlebags on a bench at the foot. And then on the floor _next_ to the bed was spread a collection of blankets and pillows that could maybe qualify as a bed roll if you really stretched the term beyond recognition.

Two guesses for which one of them _that_ was for.

“At least the bed’s large enough for-”

“We shall duel for it.” Oh for- not this again. What a shame the viscount had set a precedent for the non-combat option.

“Fine,” they said, drawing the Sword of the Creator and tossing it over to the rest of their luggage. “No weapons.”

“No killing.”

“Precisely.” They swung their arms to loosen their joints. Nothing like a late night grappling match to wind down the mind. “First to yield loses.”

“Agreed.” There was a clatter as Jeritza’s scythes joined their sword on the floor. “Loser must sleep on the floor-”

“If I win, we _both_ get the real bed.” Jeritza’s lips twitched, but he didn’t press the issue. “You’re keeping the armour on?”

“It protects me.” Well, if he wanted to take the hit to his flexibility, that was on him. “Magic?”

“You want to tell the viscount why the bedspread caught on fire?”

“...No magic.”

Byleth backed up, surveying the space for any furniture that stuck out, any untoward creases in the rug. They fell into a comfortable brawling stance. “Ready?”

They waited as Jeritza too settled, arms bent before him. “Ready.”

It took a long, still moment before either of them moved. Byleth shifted a foot forwards, tentatively. To the side as Jeritza’s body tilted ever so slightly to follow them. Knowing him, he may be willing to wait all night for them to make the first strike. So if they could just figure out his weak points in this peculiar state...

They almost didn’t catch the odd hue of their opponent’s eyes as he hurled himself bodily towards them. Moved almost late enough, and their shoulder caught the brunt of the force of it. “The no killing rule applies to you too,” they said idly, letting themself wheel freely round in time to block the punch aimed at their head.

“I am aware,” the Death Knight growled. He sidestepped in time to avoid Byleth’s foot coming up to the back of his knee. Made straight for a gut punch.

Byleth swiped at his arm and used it as an anchor to swing themself behind him. They didn’t have much leverage to move, but he couldn’t reach them back here, so long as they didn’t let him turn around on them. A motion at the base of their vision and they skipped to avoid his foot kicking back at them. But jumping let them latch one arm around his neck and hold it there with the other. They were forced on tip toe as the Death Knight bucked to get rid of them, but the forces were on their side. They just needed to keep their elbows locked in place!

“Yield,” they ordered through gritted teeth, the Death Knight digging into their arm with his fingers.

All of a sudden they were moving, their foe throwing himself back into a wall, pinning them between it and the harsh press of his armour.

No choice but to tighten their own grip around the Death Knight’s neck, even as they felt more weight being pushed into their chest. They no longer had the room to breathe in what they’d lost on impact with the wall.

The only sounds in the room were the pained gasps of each of them as they struggled to hold position even as their lungs burned for lack of air. The edge of Byleth’s vision was getting... spottier than it should be? And they were still very much stuck here until the Death Knight collapsed too.

Oh dear. They could feel everything go fuzzy-

Their eyes snapped open as their back hit the wall and knocked the wind out of them. Great, so they were going to keep doing this unless they yielded, were they? They glared at the miserable little bedroll as they continued their stranglehold.

“Do you want to compromise?” Byleth croaked out with the breath they had left. “You can take the bed, and I can also take the bed.”

“...That’s the same result as you winning!” the Death Knight shouted. For their efforts, he shoved back harder, and they could swear they heard their ribs crack before they blacked out and back into the fight.

“Listen,” they said, with their arms wrapped around the Death Knight’s throat but their back not yet against the wall. “Is there any situation where you’d consider yielding?”

“Why would I do that?” Intriguing mix of anger and genuine confusion there.

Byleth sighed into the back of his neck, feeling him slowly shift backwards. “Well I won’t either, so I think we set up the rules wrong.” He stopped moving at that, and in return Byleth loosened their grip.

“I see.” He paused. “To the death, then-”

“ _No_.” They blew some of Jeritza’s hair out of their mouth. “Do you have a coin we could flip?”

“That...” A murmur that turned into nothing. Probably not then, and Byleth hadn’t been given an allowance or anything either.

“...We could try rock paper scissors?”

“...Very well. I will find scissors.” He made it a whole one step forwards before Byleth grabbed hold of his shoulders to stop him. Okay, so they were dealing with someone who didn’t know what rock paper scissors was.

“Bring Jeritza back,” they said, trying not to sound too beleaguered. “He probably knows how to play.”

The Death Knight whirled around to face them, knocking their hands aside. “And leave him with you while you wield scissors? You take me for a fool!” Technically he wasn’t wrong on that last bit. But they had evidence to back their opinion up.

“Or I’ll just teach you the rules,” Byleth sighed. They held out their fist. “This is rock.” Flattened their hand. “Paper.” Pulled back all but two fingers. “Scissors.” The Death Knight pulled his brow even tighter. “Both of us say ‘rock paper scissors’ together, then choose one of them. Rock blunts scissors. Scissors cuts paper. Paper wraps rock. If we pick the same, we have to try again.”

“...These rules are ridiculous,” the Death Knight growled. “If one wraps a rock in paper, they have only made the rock flammable.”

Byleth shrugged. “Rocks are how you sharpen scissors, too.”

“Clearly the rock must be removed from the field.” Byleth nodded along.

“But then we have to replace it with something else to make the game work. What’s weak to paper, but strong against scissors?” There was a long, _long_ silence as both of them thought. “...Let’s keep the rock for now.”

“Yes.” He held out his closed fist.

“Ready? Rock paper scissors, go.” Byleth butted the Death Knight’s fake finger scissors with their own fist rock. “My win.”

“That was nothing but a practice! Again!”

“If we don’t set a reasonable win condition we’re going to be here all night.”

“What use is this contest if it ends before we are able to comprehend each other?” The beds! This was only about the damned beds!

“How about first to ten wins? Is that enough?”

“Hmph. We shall see.” Strip away the wanton murder, and apparently the Death Knight had the same petulant streak as the man he lived alongside. Could being stubborn become muscle memory?

“Rock paper scissors, go.” One win for Byleth... “Rock paper scissors, go.” A draw.... “Rock paper scissors, go.” Two wins for Byleth...

To think, they weren’t even needing to cheat with their divine powers! Not that they would use them for anything that petty. Obviously. In case any feelings of disapproval were thinking of sneaking up on them.

...Seven wins, one loss...

...Eight wins, one loss...

...Eight wins, two losses...

Byleth frowned as the Death Knight drew rock for the fourth time in the row. “Rock paper scissors, go.” Make that the fifth. And a ninth win for Byleth. “Rock paper scissors, go.” Ten wins. And yet somehow they felt unsatisfied.

“You can’t stay on rock all the time and expect to win,” they said, tearing their eyes away from their hands to look up at the Death Knight’s expression.

His eyes were dull and dark.

“Oh, did he leave?”

“...Were you playing rock paper scissors?” Jeritza said, slowly, his voice unusually hoarse. He looked around, probably expecting the room to look more in disarray than it was.

“Yes. I won.” Byleth wandered back to the bed and sat down, giving the bedroll a little kick on the way for good measure. “Come on. Bedtime.” They tugged their boots off and clambered over to their luggage. “We got given nightshirts, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Jeritza said stiffly as he walked over too and began to rummage. A clean linen shirt was gently lobbed at Byleth. “I will change next door.” He marched into what was presumably the fabled lockable water closet, and shut the door behind him.

Byleth was tucked in under the covers and drifting off by the time Jeritza returned, dragging his pile of armour behind him. He could get all that off on his own, huh...

He extinguished the room’s lamps, and Byleth felt the covers shift as he climbed under them.

“I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on sharing a bed,” he muttered.

“It’s more convenient,” Byleth shot back, mouth half smothered by their pillow. “I don’t understand why you want one of us to sleep on the floor.”

Jeritza huffed. “But doesn’t it feel... like you’re doing something wrong?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to sleep wrong.”

“Not like that...” He trailed off. “Maybe this is some mercenary habit.”

“Maybe,” Byleth mumbled back. “Can’t remember.

“But it’s kind of nice to sleep near someone else, I think, even if it’s just in a tent on the march. Like fighting next to them.”

“...Just go to sleep already.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels weird to already've gotten to 20 chapters ^-^; it somehow doesn't feel like that long!

It was movement next to them that woke Byleth up that morning. Movement of the nice warm mass beside them as it unceremoniously escaped, letting a whole bunch of cool outside air beneath the covers in the process. The door to the washroom clicked shut, and locked.

Fine. No point waiting around just to be poked awake again later.

Byleth padded out into the drawing room without bothering to get dressed. That butler had said something about breakfast...

Sure enough, a serving cart had been wheeled over by the coffee table, an array of cut fruit, glossy pastries, and cured meats on display. Good to see the viscount understood the importance of a good start to the day!

Jeritza walked in while they were unloading the various plates and utensils, already in riding trousers and a knitted undershirt. His eyes snapped predictably to the pastry plate.

“Sleep well?” Byleth asked conversationally as he took a seat and and some sort of sultana filled roll.

“I kept dreaming of throwing firey rocks at people,” he muttered between mouthfuls. “My arms ached when I awoke.”

“He’s still hung up on that...” Byleth mumbled to themself.

“On what?”

“Nothing important.” They picked out a couple of slices of sausage that dyed their fingers orange with spice. “So what are we doing today?”

“We should present ourselves to the war camp first.” Byleth sighed, and shoved more sausage into their mouth. “You can then cause trouble while we are there, and provide an excuse for me to leave you here tomorrow.” It made sense as a tactic, but they didn’t want to go in the first place. “...Is that one spicy?”

It took a second for them to realise he was talking about the sausage. “A bit, yes.” For him, yes.

He frowned and changed tack for some eerily translucent ham instead. “Have you put any more thought into your lesson plan?”

“...Might focus on survival,” they said. Their gaze drifted away to look out the window. It was a nice view of the city, now it was light, people bustling about and hauling cargo. “Avoiding ambushes, simple first aid... Who knows? Maybe we’ll wind up with an army of avid healers.” When they looked back, Jeritza’s face was stony. They stood, striding off to the bedroom. “We should leave as soon as we could. It’ll probably take a while to reach the camp, right?”

They could hear Jeritza’s sigh even after the door shut behind them.

  
  


If the Gideon encampment was trying to be the most irritating place to get to from Gideon, then it had certainly succeeded. But, several miles of narrow hill paths that had forded a good half a dozen minor waterways _later_ , and Byleth and Jeritza had arrived there. Sweaty, dusty, but there. And from the looks of it, everyone else was in the same grubby boat.

A shrill whistle cut through the air, and quite suddenly, the natural hubbub of a camp full of recruits shut off. “Unit A, South Grounds!” a man bellowed, voice just distant enough that Byleth couldn’t precisely place him. “Unit H, East Grounds! Others, as you were!”

The silence broke, and the hubbub trickled back.

Before either of them them could wonder what _that_ was about, an armoured soldier jogged up to them and said in a wheeze, “General von Hrym, Professor Eisner, may I stable your horses?”

Byleth was dismounting before she’d even finished her request. Genuinely, once this was over, they were taking an oath to never touch a horse again.

Another soldier was trudging towards them. “Good day, sirs! I trust you are both prepared to begin your instruction posthaste?” Jeritza and Byleth nodded and shrugged respectively. “Excellent. Then, general, if you would accompany me, and professor...” He looked around and clicked his fingers at a passing myrmidon. “You, take the professor to the East Grounds. I’ll be over shortly, understood?

“Shall we, general?”

Byleth was left alone with the myrmidon as Jeritza was led off to the south. “Um,” stammered the myrmidon, chin tucked into her chest. “The East Grounds are- They’re just this way.” She turned quickly, and hurried east, barely giving time for Byleth to follow. Idly they wondered what reputation this was a sign of them having here.

The only clue Byleth had reached the East Grounds was their guide stopping, bowing, then making herself scarce. They supposed there was ground here. And a few dozen people in plainclothes milling about and chewing up said ground even further. Probably today’s students? Were they supposed to just start running them through drills now or...

“Unit H, to attention!” Or the soldier from earlier could arrive on the scene. That worked too.

The conscripts halted in their chatter and swiftly turned to where the soldier walked up to beside Byleth. “Unit H! Today you will have the honour of being trained by a former professor of the Garreg Mach Monastery Officers Academy! This is an opportunity given to you by the Emperor herself, and you are you improve yourselves to the best of your abilities! Is that clear?”

A chorus of “yes sir”s arose from the conscripts.

The soldier turned to face Byleth. “This unit is in the middle lunch group. Please finish with them by the second whistle.” Byleth nodded. They were sure they’d find out what that entailed when they got to it.

He too bowed, and made his exit, and Byleth turned to look over their new pupils. A lot of simple, cheap clothing on them... If they had to guess, this lot were regular village folk with no more training than those they’d met in Gautier. And thinking about it, those same blind spots may well carry over.

“Who here has encountered magic before?” they asked, voice projecting easily across the crowd. A single person to the edge of the pack raised their hand. Byleth stared them down and gestured for them to explain.

“Well I met a travelling priest once,” he said, voice trembling. “And he, uh, fixed a problem with my foot?” That sounded like an incredibly benign encounter, and it was amazing that no one else had anything more exciting to add.

“As you can see,” Byleth continued, “magic is a great way to increase the physical abilities of your allies.” They clapped their hands together. “So you’re all going to learn how to Heal today.”

And _nothing_ else. Hope the Empire appreciated the support!

  
  


Byleth set down their bowl of over-thickened stew on the table in the officers’ tent and picked at it reluctantly. Yep, tasted as pallid and floury as it looked. Really, they could see the river from camp; someone could at least go catch a few fish!

...Maybe _they_ should go do that. Was there anything they could fashion into a rod round here?

Another bowl thudded down opposite them, followed by Jeritza sitting in a huff. Byleth happily abandoned their food and propped their chin in their hands to stare across the table instead. They watched curiously as Jeritza took a whopping _one_ bite, before making a face and pushing his entire bowl away. “Inedible.”

A flash of red caught Byleth’s eye as Jeritza’s hair fluttered with the motion. “You have blood on your face.” They tapped their own jowl. “There.” Jeritza scrubbed at the mark, quickly rubbing it away. “Whose blood was that?”

“A conscript thought to attack me while my back was turned. It ended... poorly for him.” Byleth winced.

“Why did he even try to attack you?”

“I presume he recognised me as the monster I am.”

There was probably a sensitive way to respond to their colleague calling himself a monster, but that seemed too difficult to pin down. “It’s pretty arrogant to take on a supposed monster alone.”

Jeritza snorted. “You say this as if you haven’t fought me alone yourself. Repeatedly.”

“Only when you forced my hand,” Byleth retorted, feeling their own mouth spread into a pout. “Besides, with enough people treating me as exceptional, it’s hard not to think they’re right sometimes.”

“Hmph, how conceited.” He said as if he wasn’t smiling.

“Did you kill that man?” Jeritza paused before shaking his head.

“I believe he was merely injured and taken away somewhere.” Not the best sign if he couldn’t properly remember.

“If you’re going to injure your own students like that, you should at least heal them afterwards so the lesson can continue.”

“What gave you the impression I have the ability to heal anyone?”

“I’ve seen you use magic in a fight before,” Byleth insisted, leaning further over the table.

“To attack, yes.” Jeritza scuffed his chair back. “I am no healer.”

“Listen, I clearly need to get used to teaching again, if I struggled getting a bunch of conscripted villagers to learn a spell that makes them not die.” They lunged for his arms. He swept them out of the way neatly. “So let me practise on you.”

“How can you be so out of practice as a professor that you think a bunch of villagers recently abandoned by the Church would be amenable to your preaching about Faith magic?” Byleth retreated upright and tilted their head in confusion.

“What’s the Church got to do with it?” they asked.

“What’s the Church got to do with _Faith_ magic?”

Byleth nodded. “I’m good at Faith magic and I can’t even remember the names of all the saints half the time!”

“...But there’s only _five_.”

“Huh? ?I thought there were- Oh, right, Seiros counts too, I guess.” Easy to forget when her statue wasn’t with the others. “And speaking of Seiros, I never did get the hang of her teachings. I got stuck on ‘murder bad, unless the archbishop tells you too, in which case murder good’. Seems pointless to learn all the rules when they don’t matter as long as the head of the Church says so...”

Wait a second, hadn’t Rhea sort of... handed the reins over to Byleth five years ago? How official was that, anyway? If they made it back to the monastery, they _really_ ought to grill Seteth about that. There were some _big_ implications for how moral Byleth was with regards to murder...

Jeritza was frowning at them. “Anyway,” they said, shaking their head to clear it. “Faith doesn’t need to be religious. You just need to believe what you’re doing is helpful. Believing in someone or something else is just a good starting point.”

“...So again, I can’t heal.”

Byleth sighed. “Not with that attitude.” Curse the stubbornness of this man.

Someone else cleared their throat. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” At some point another woman had entered the officers’ tent without them noticing. Byleth would feel put out by missing her entrance, but they instead had to concede that her slight build and drab brown colouring made her a perfect fit for the thief’s uniform she wore.

Both them and Jeritza reluctantly straightened. Byleth’s eyes flicked down to the newcomer’s bowl. “Fair warning,” they said. “Lunch is terrible today.” The woman chuckled.

“If I didn’t already know this was your first day here, that would certainly confirm it.” She sat primly down beside Byleth and tucked some of her stray hair back into her hood. “General von Hrym I recognise, of course, but I suppose that would make you Professor Eisner?”

“Nice to meet you...”

“Sparrow. My _expertise_ is usually further north, but for now I’m at your service should you need me.” Ah... Another of the Empire’s agents, then. Apparently losing even five in a row wasn’t enough to clear this area out.

“Is being named after a bird necessary to get hired by the Empire, or is that just a weird coincidence?”

Sparrow blinked in mild confusion at Byleth. “I’m... sorry?”

“Ignore them,” Jeritza drawled. “They’re just acting out today.” Well he didn’t have to put it so _dismissively_.

Sparrow laughed again, and delicately blew on a spoonful of stew. “Oh, good. I would hate to find out someone as well regarded as yourself didn’t even know what a codename was.” They... supposed that made sense for a spy. Even if they maybe wouldn’t have come up with it on their own...

There was a sudden bustling at the entrance of the tent, and this time Byleth was able to look over in time to see the flap open for the next few people to come marching in: that shouty soldier from before, along with two men Byleth recognised as being from the unit they’d just had a session with. “Byleth Eisner!” the soldier shouted. Byleth was starting to think he might be quite high up on the command chain.

“Don’t be so loud,” growled Jeritza.

“M-my apologies, general!

“Byleth Eisner!” he repeated in a marginally quieter voice. “What is the meaning of this?!” He gestured with both hands to the men he’d brought in with them. They looked very uncomfortable to be here.

“The meaning of what?” Byleth asked.

“I caught these two in the medical tent! They told me everything you’ve been teaching them!”

“It’s very forward thinking for them to be putting their new skills to use already.” What good students.

“Byleth Eisner, you were welcomed into this camp to prepare an army for combat!”

Byleth nodded. “Something I’ve learned during my time as a commander is that dead armies are very bad at winning battles.” They met definite eye contact with the man and held it. “Don’t you want to give your army the means to stay not dead?”

He was slowly turning quite the interesting shade of red. “And how do you explain your instruction to, and I quote, ‘take every opportunity to avoid combat’?” Byleth could feel the stares of the rest of the tent on them.

“They won’t die if they’re not in combat.”

“These are levied troops, Eisner! They do not need more encouragement to desert!” He was getting pretty loud. It’d be a wonder if the whole camp couldn’t hear every word.

“It isn’t my fault I’m used to Faerghan soldiers’ level of loyalty. They’re much better to work with, you know.”

The poor soldier looked moments from exploding by now. They watched intently as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned to Jeritza and, through gritted teeth, continued, “General von Hrym. I had been assured that the professor had proven their loyalty to the Empire, and would _not_ be a risk of spreading sedition. May I ask why this does not appear to be the case?” Jeritza leaned back in his chair, face an unreadably dour mask.

“I will ensure they will not be present tomorrow,” he eventually said. “This trial was clearly a failure.” Some of the blood left the soldier’s face as his shoulders drooped.

“I appreciate that, sir.” They all fell into silence. “Well, since that was all...” He turned to the poor fellows he’d dragged in. “You two! With me! I’m not done with you yet!” The tent flap fluttered harshly behind them.

“...I’m not secretly expected to assassinate anyone this time, am I?” Byleth asked, setting their head in their hands.

“If I am able to restrain myself, so are you.” Byleth sighed and went back to not finishing their meal while they tried to write off how perversely fun they were finding winding other people up.


	21. Chapter 21

Byleth shuffled out into the landing hallway and towards the staircase. They’d be here on their own today, which gave them a perfect opportunity to be nosy, as far as they were concerned!

Now, what secrets was this place holding?

Deciding to try a methodical sweep of the building, Byleth sauntered down the dingy ground floor corridor until they reached what seemed to be the end, and tested the large wooden door there. It opened smoothly, and they slipped inside.

They had arrived in a rather nicely stocked library, bookshelves hogging every inch of wall space and only pausing to make way for the heavy curtains that covered the windows. There must’ve been a thousand books in here... They were definitely marking this stash down as ‘having too much money’.

Their footsteps clicked as they made their way across the polished floorboards, eyes flicking across the spines of the many volumes on display. It was a small mercy that many of them had their titles embossed on the spines; Byleth was fairly sure their hands would fall off if they had to individually check every book to discern they were in front of the botany section.

They pulled out a book missing a cover that thought looked out of place amongst its pristine neighbours, and flipped to the first page. _Edible Plants of the Leicester Alliance_. A quick perusal of the suspiciously bedraggled book showed it was an illustrated encyclopedia of edible plants found in the Leicester Alliance.

They didn’t know what they expected.

“Doing a little light reading, I see.” Byleth whipped their head round at the sound of the viscount’s voice. There he was, shutting the door silently behind him. “I really ought to replace the cover of that one, but I’ve had it for so many years I’m hesitant to change its appearance even for the better. Humans truly can be foolish, can’t they?” Byleth flicked their gaze back to the encyclopedia, hyper aware of the viscount continuing to hover in their peripheral vision. Carefully they slid it back into place in its shelf. Upon further consideration, it probably didn’t hold any secrets about any of Elsetti’s dealings.

They ambled down the rows of shelves, squinting at titles as they went. Looked like that was a section for medicine, that area was devoted to history, and then started architecture. And then more architecture. And more architecture. And...

They were noticing a theme here.

How much could even be written about buildings?! There was enough here to build an entire house out of these books!

Byleth crouched down to pull out a particularly hefty tome from a set on the bottom shelf. It didn’t have anything helpful on the cover, but the title page declared it to be about the construction of the Mittelfrank Opera House (but somehow stretched the concept into a thirty word sentence). They began to flip through the pages, and quickly realised why the thing took up so much space. Maybe the viscount just preferred books with pictures.

The floor creaked behind them, a neat little reminder they weren’t alone in here. Byleth turned back to see Elsetti still watching them. He hadn’t moved further than shifting his weight onto the other foot.

“Are you going to stare at me all day?” they asked, heaving the Mittelfrank book back where it belonged. “Shouldn’t a viscount have more important things to do?”

Elsetti chuckled, finally peeling away from the doorframe and walking slowly towards Byleth. “I can’t think of anything more important than keeping an eye on such a... _precious_ _guest_ of the Empire.”

“If I wanted to run, I would’ve already done so.” Seriously, this man did _not_ look like the worthiest opponent. They could probably take him right now, despite having left the Sword of the Creator in their room where it couldn’t light up and draw attention.

Elsetti just laughed condescendingly. “Now, I’m sure we can find you something in here that suits your fancy. What sort of topics do you like?” Byleth couldn’t say they cared for the way he leaned down over them.

They pushed themself to their feet, forcing the viscount to move back out of the way. “Is it all non-fiction in here?” Elsetti’s smile showed too many teeth.

“I believe I have a few anthologies of folk tales across Fódlan,” he said. “Why don’t I get those for you, hm?” Byleth idly followed him back to the history section.

“I’m surprised,” Byleth commented as Elsetti reached for a large cloth-bound book. “A library this large, I’d expect it to be padded out with your records.” And yet they hadn’t found anything that looked like that at all.

“Oh come now, professor, surely you’ve heard of a ‘business rival’! I wouldn’t dream of putting my own, _sensitive_ financial information out where anyone could read it! Who do you take me for?” Someone far too willing to over explain to someone he thought was an idiot?

“Ah, so do you have a study you keep them in?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Which room is that, then?”

Elsetti frowned. “...Next door. And I’ll only tell you once; it’s off limits to the likes of you.” He huffed half a laugh. “Not that you’d get very _far_. After all, the only time it’s unlocked is when I’m in there.” Byleth nodded sagely.

“Thanks,” they said.

And reached back in time.

“Why don’t I get those for you, hm?” Elsetti said, not a hint of suspicion about him.

  
  


Byleth looked up from their portion of roast beef at the sound of heavy boots marching into the dining room. A few seats further along the table, Elsetti set down his cutlery and smiled at the armed guard who’d just entered.

“Ah, Leroy, there you are. I have an important little task for you.” He raised a hand towards Byleth. “I need someone to keep an eye on this one for the afternoon.”

Byleth tilted their head. “I thought _you_ were doing that.” Elsetti didn’t bother looking them as he continued,

“I have a meeting I must attend in town, and it’s hardly one I can bring them along for.” He punctuated himself with a laugh. “They can wander if they wish, but make sure they don’t leave the grounds.”

“Yes sir.”

Byleth went back to their food, letting the guard slink back to the edge of their vision and stand to attention against the wall. Hm. Interesting.

  
  


They stared out the drawing room window to watch Elsetti, wrapped up in a rather fetching crimson frock coat, climb into a carriage and be whisked off into the heart of Gideon. No witnesses to the study. That was one out of three problems out of the way.

They turned to see their viscount-mandated babysitter looming ominously in the corner next to a harpsichord. He was maybe half a head taller than them if they included his helmet, but didn’t have much of the way of armour outside a plain looking cuirass. They could take him out no problem if they wanted to. No, he was more of a problem in terms of where they’d need to hide his body afterwards. They’d rather not put this place on high alert while they were still searching for evidence of wrong doing.

With a yawn and a stretch, Byleth opted to stroll off into the corridor. “I want to go outside for a bit,” they told the guard already jumping to follow them. “The gardens look nice from my room.” And more to the point, _full_ of nice isolated spots which wouldn’t get much foot traffic.

  
  


The air was still in the gardens, though it was likely just a result of the townhouse blocking the wind. It meant the scent from the late blooming rosebushes overstayed its welcome, mingling with the faint smells of the city to create something cloying and musty.

Annoyingly, most of the topiary around was pretty shallow, not reaching above waist height. Was this good garden etiquette? Obviously Byleth didn’t overheat when left out in the sun, but they knew other people did. This seemed an unusable waste during the summer.

Feeling a bit irritated, they spun on their heel to talk to their guard. “Do you...” They trailed off, spotting something hanging from their belt glinting in the sunshine. Was that... a set of keys?

“What?” grunted the guard, looking uncomfortable.

“Are you important round here?” Byleth wondered aloud. The guard looked even more uncomfortable. “That seems like a lot of keys for a regular guard to have.”

“A-as Viscount Elsetti’s head of security, it’s vital to have full access to the estate in case of emergency.” Byleth nodded thoughtfully. They liked the sound of that.

They tugged on time, sweeping away their tracks.

Air still heady with warmth, Byleth turned back to the guard. “Is there anywhere in the garden with more shade?” they asked. “The sun’s hurting my eyes.”

After a pause, the guard nodded. “Stay beside me,” he said, pointing to the ground to his right. Making sure they were within range of his sword arm, huh? Savvy guy. They had to wonder what sort of deal he’d made to be in a cushy job like this rather than off fighting for the Empire.

A real shame it wasn’t going to matter.

Byleth found themself being led around the side of the house and to the back, where trimmed bushes stopped short into a trimmed lawn edged with trimmed trees. In a corner near the external walls stood a little wooden shed, starkly modest in comparison to everything else.

Confidently they strode ahead, letting the treeline swallow them and their guard up. “Much better,” they mumbled to themself as they closed the distance between them and the shed. “Don’t you think so?” they asked, louder. They stopped walking, spinning to again face their guard. He didn’t look interested in answering them. Oh well. “Your name was Leroy, right?” The guard nodded, silently. “Well, Leroy, I just want to say, I’m really sorry for getting you fired today.”

The guard’s face scrunched up in a confusion for a brief moment. “What are you-”

He let out a cry of pain as Byleth’s foot made impact with his knee. His hand flew to his sword as his body buckled, but not in time to block Byleth’s hand from grabbing his head and slamming it hard into the trunk of a nearby tree.

A few startled birds rustled the leaves above as they took flight.

Byleth surreptitiously double checked their surroundings as poor Leroy slumped to the ground with a thud. No one on the lawn, and hopefully if anyone was looking out the windows in the house, the dappled light over here would obscure what they were doing.

Leroy was silent and unmoving, but did seem to still be breathing, so that was nice for their conscience. Helmets: very important in case of head injury. They freed his keys from his belt and went to open the door to their hiding place. Looked like it locked! And looked like dear Leroy had the right key for it.

He was... more than a little annoying to drag, and his cuirass got stuck on the sill on the way in. But it was fine! He was still unconscious, hadn’t left a trail of blood behind them, and now Byleth had access to garden twine to keep him from running off and getting help too quick.

Now they just needed to work out a way of getting all the way to the study without being caught without their guardian. Which, they mused as they searched for twine, was likely to raise suspicions. Ah, the twine was on that top shelf there.

Their gaze fell once again upon the limp body of their guard. He really was only a bit bigger than them.

...And he wasn’t going to be needing that uniform anymore.

A plan firmly in mind, Byleth smiled and knelt down to unbuckle his cuirass.

  
  


The shed door’s lock clicked shut, and Byleth fastened their stolen keyring back to their stolen belt where it belonged. Three out of three. Prep work complete.

None of the servants they passed gave them a second glance as they sauntered down to the library and into the alcove the corridor truncated into. The door that had to lead into the study did indeed have quite the conspicuous lock, shiny and newer than the rest of the door. Byleth flicked through their keys to find one that seemed to match, and quietly opened the door. A quick glance back down the corridor to ensure they weren’t being watched...

And they slipped inside.

Although there was a window in the study, even pulling back the heavy curtains showed only a view of overgrown foliage on the other side of the glass, leaving the room gloomy and unsuitable for reading. No choice for it, Byleth picked their way carefully towards the viscount’s desk and reached to light the ornate oil lamp upon it. The dull yellow light steadily spread throughout the room enough to see what they were working with.

A fancy sideboard with various metal and glass sculptures on display, a tall ceramic vase with some sort of dried grass in it, and of course what they were looking for - a heavy wooden bookcase full of similar looking leather bound books.

They ran their finger down the spines until they reached a red one at the end, and pulled it out. Half of the pages were blank: a good sign this was a recent ledger.

The most recent entry was an invoice for some sort of fountain repair. One thousand gold... That sounded reasonable for a job that probably involved plumbing, or something similarly out of Byleth’s expertise.

Hm. There sure were a lot of outgoing costs for public infrastructure. Far more than could be budgeted for by the fee taken each month for outside merchants to be allowed to set up their stalls inside the city. And absolutely no personal expenses were being declared anywhere in here, but that wasn’t particularly meaningful for someone already under suspicion of corruption.

One thing was clear: these records were incomplete.

Byleth slid the next red ledger along off its shelf and flicked through it, eyeing up the figures as they went. Some money in, more money out, still. Evidence that Gideon had supposedly been running at a severe deficit for years. Almost as long as the handwriting stayed the same, even.

They set the old ledger aside for later, and replaced the newer one. They had to assume Elsetti would notice if they took off with something he was still using.

They took a step back and really glared at the bookshelf. Somehow they’d expected more. Something with a bit more detail. Something that, thinking about it, the viscount may not want to leave out in the open, locked study or not.

They turned on the desk. It had drawers. There might be stuff in those drawers. Fun, secret, _sordid_ stuff.

Viscount Elsetti really ought to get a carpenter in to fix the stiffness of some of these drawers. Surely he’d need to get into these regularly considering they held paper... ink and quills... tiny books...

Tiny books. There were two tiny books in the bottom one. Barely bigger than their hand and bound in blue leather so dark it looked black in the shadow. Yes, now _this_ was suspicious. They lifted one out and checked the pages. Another ledger, this one condensed down to no more than lists of dates, names, and prices. Some money out, more money in. And the sheer amounts of money each time! Other than the odd mark of “gift”, they couldn’t see an incoming amount of less than five thousand gold! What could all this possibly be for?!

They reached the end of the log, the final entry being for whatever a “Pink Pony” was, with an incoming total of fifteen thousand gold, and a date of around a month ago. Must’ve switched to a new book only recently, huh. Well, since he wasn’t using _this_ one anymore...

They set the blue book on top of the other ledger they’d collected. After a quick survey of the drawer it’d come from, Byleth shut it back up, satisfied they had what they needed for now. If they kept the keys handy, they should be able to come back for the rest once they were ready to get Elsetti formally arrested. But for now, this should be enough to continue the investigation.

Byleth stood and stretched out their arms. They couldn’t see much else of importance in here. Interest, maybe, because one of those little sculptures on the sideboard kept moving and catching their eye, but it did just look ornamental. Unless they were making fancy technical equipment in the shape of tiny dancing horses these days, which admittedly, they would not know. But all in all, it probably just served to look nice.

They extinguished the oil lamp, plunging the study back into darkness, and scooped up their borrowed books.

  
  


The light was dwindling, sun sinking past the city walls. Jeritza would probably be back soon, and who knew when the viscount would return. So, Byleth really needed to come up with a good excuse for what they’d needed to escape their babysitter for.

Currently they stood out by the front of the house, hoping it was a suitably guard-like place to stand. They supposed they could just play to Elsetti’s expectations... He’d thought they were a flight risk, hadn’t he? And it _would_ be nice to familiarise themself with the city a bit more...

Clearly their hands were tied! They marched off happily to the front gates to the property, giving the guards stationed there a friendly nod as they walked right on past.

Wow. Security here really was just that bad. Elsetti had no idea how lucky he was that he was currently Byleth’s person of most interest. He would have a very angry emperor to deal with otherwise.

Even as night loomed, the streets of Gideon were lively with merchants hawking their wares, their stalls lit up with lanterns until the whole city glowed. It was beautiful, in a busy sort of way. Byleth wasn’t sure how nice it would be for some poor sap living here, having to overlook this ordeal every single night.

“You, sire, look like you could do with a charm for luck in battle!” cried one merchant with a ridiculous number of leather bracelets, shoving his way in front of Byleth and holding a leather necklace up to their face. They tried to edge away, running up against the crowd. “Or perhaps one for a sweetheart, hm? Brigid style, it’s very fashionable right now!” There was no one in sight wearing anything like that right now!

Byleth spotted an opening between throngs of passers by and dashed through, leaving the merchant to find a new victim. Ah, cities. The only places more peaceful when they were turned into a battlefield.

That was probably a bad thing to think, all things considered. They disliked the idea that the hundreds, _thousands_ of people surrounding them could pay with their lives at any moment. One order to burn the city and-

They shook their head, trying to force the possibilities back out. Everything was fine. This was not contested land. The war was far away. This city was unimportant.

They’d walked far enough that the crowd had thinned, people peeling off into taverns and inns and whatever other entertainment a market city held. There was a fountain here, in this wide junction overlooking one of the city gates. Wide and many tiered, and a place where weary pedestrians stopped to sit now the day’s traffic had dried up.

They went ahead and took a seat a little ways away from a roughly dressed young woman nursing a bottle. If they closed their eyes they could focus on the soft bubbling of the water behind them. There was too much around them, but if it was just them and the flowing water... They could handle that.

“What are you doing out here?” They were spurred back into reality by a familiar voice. “And why are you wearing that?” Jeritza looked much taller when he was on a horse and Byleth was just sitting at a fountain.

“How did you know it was me?” they asked, pulling off their borrowed helmet and shaking their hair out. Their scalp felt horrendously sticky.

Jeritza looked confused. “I... don’t require your hair to identify you,” he said.

“Weird.” Byleth pushed themself to their feet. Looked like their evening out was coming to an end. “Worked on everyone else.”

“Does no one know your face?”

“Apparently not.” They shrugged. “Want to head back and chew the estate out for their bad security protocol?”

“Absolutely not. I have been telling fools how to do their jobs correctly all day. You do it instead.”

“Suit yourself.” Oh no, a chance to lecture Elsetti on ways he’d fallen short of expectations. Truly, such a hardship.

  
  


Byleth leaned over Jeritza’s shoulder as he leafed through Elsetti’s blue ledger. They’d retreated back to their own quarters after an incredibly awkward dinner with the viscount.

“Wait,” Byleth said suddenly, shooting a hand out to stop Jeritza turning the page. “That name: the Crown’s Rest. I saw an inn with that name in town.” A price of eighteen thousand gold followed it.

“Hm.” He began flicking through pages again. So many names they began to blur together, but again,

“That one’s a tavern.” Nine thousand. “I wonder how many of these are businesses in Gideon...”

Wordlessly, Jeritza rose from his armchair and walked off to the bedroom. When he returned it was with pen and paper. He handed the ledger over to Byleth. “From the beginning. Find every name that doesn’t belong to a person.” Byleth nodded, and began to scan the first pages while Jeritza got his stationery ready.

“Gideon Textile Mill...” They waited for him to scribble that down. “Wortham Mercenaries... Crown’s Rest...”

They continued reading and their companion continued writing until the page was all but covered in the names of all manner of different genres of business.

“So, what next?” Byleth asked, finally shutting the book back up again. “That’s still a lot to track down.”

Jeritza frowned at his list, lifting it up so the firelight shone through the paper, as if doing that would somehow illuminate some secret he’d missed. “I shall send this to Sparrow,” he eventually announced. “Far easier than looking for all these places ourselves.”

“I thought this wasn’t her region of expertise.”

“Then I shall ask her to find directions and we will simply do the work ourselves.”

“I guess.” Sounded like they had a busy day in store soon.

Jeritza quickly wrote another note down, then folded everything into an envelope. “I will return shortly.” He stood, and in a flash of purple light, he was gone. Byleth had forgotten he could still do that. Seemed like a useful skill.

Idly they opened up the blue book again to peruse. Would they actually recognise any person names in here if they gave it a proper look over? Hm...

“Arundel...” Dammit, they’d heard that name before somewhere, back at the academy. Not one of their students... Maybe a student from a different house?

They couldn’t remember. Damn nobles and the name soup they boiled themselves in. This was why they needed to make rosters.

Another flash of purple light caught them unawares. “You’re back already?”

“I said I would return shortly.” He did say that. “I only needed to drop my letter off at the messenger post outside the city.”

Oh. “I thought you were going to the camp.”

“I would not be able to go that far and complete the journey back.” Ah, right. White Warps could only be used so often before exhaustion; it only made sense dark magic ones would be similar. “I hope Sparrow’s response comes soon.”

“Don’t want to spend another day reliving your days as a weapons instructor?” Jeritza’s jaw clenched.

“They are all terrible. I was told Faerghans picked up the blade at a young age!”

“They’re still a bunch of commoners who’ve likely never picked up a weapon more threatening than a hunter’s bow before.” He didn’t look appeased. “There’s a lawn at the back of the house. Do you want to turn it into a training yard with me tom-”

“Yes.” They had to hold back a snicker. Well, they could do with something routine themself too. A little something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's so weird that I don't have any extra commentary to add that I'm down here rambling about not having anything to add trying to fill that void. normal writing things :')


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's justify that M rating babeyyy

“We have an audience,” Byleth commented as they jumped out of the way of Jeritza’s next swing. Some of the windows to the house were populated with servants pressed against the glass, watching the two of them fight.

“It’s distracting you,” they heard, right as his scythe swung back to clip their shoulder. It hurt. Not enough to bother redoing it, though. The loose fabric of their coat had interfered with the blade enough to prevent serious damage. “You aren’t trying your best today.”

“There’s no point tiring myself out,” Byleth said back. They jumped to avoid a strike at their feet. “And the same could be said for you.” They rushed forwards to attack at close range, Jeritza barely moving in time to glance the Sword of the Creator off his breastplate. “You’re still you right now.”

“...Yes.” His brows were drawn.

“It’s fine with me, but I’m curious. Is this even useful training when it’s usually _him_ on the battlefield?”

“The body remembers even when the mind does not,” he said gruffly.

“Ah. Muscle memory.” Well, that was worth more in a fight any day. All the thinking in the world wouldn’t help if you’d already failed to dodge an incoming attack.

“And I feel I should correct you.” Wasn’t that what he just did already? “It is not _usually_ him on the field of battle. It is _always_.”

Huh. “So you only really know what it’s like to train?” How weird to think about.

Jeritza’s mouth twitched. “I still know the _feeling_ of combat. The heat of exertion, the scent of rust and ash choking your lungs, the brightness of the world as it narrows to the sharp point between life and death...” His voice had turned dreamy, but his attacks had stayed unrelenting. “Yes, I know well the light of your sword, the glint in your eye as you thrust it toward me-”

“Um...” Byleth was starting to get the too tight, _itchy_ feeling that they were listening to something private.

“How would it feel to finally fall beneath your blade, I wonder? To fall freely and be trampled by-”

Byleth managed to duck under his next swing and charge into his undefended personal space sword-first. They forced their hand aside just as their strike grazed his left ear.

They’d both frozen, words catching into the muffled silence of the garden. Byleth was caught braced between Jeritza’s arms as he grasped his scythe, his face close enough to count the eyelashes framing his blown out pupils. They opened their mouth to say something, but their throat felt choked. (Like the midst of a fierce battle, their mind unhelpfully supplied.) So they just stood there, feeling the weight of their sword and the heat of Jeritza’s breath.

Jeritza’s gaze flicked aside to their sword arm, extended over his shoulder. He would struggle to stop them if they pulled their hand back; a single motion of their elbow would be enough to slice through his spine and end him on the spot. They could. It would be so easy.

They looked back, into the quiet wonder on his face. His eyes shone back dark, still indubitably his. He was not about to attack, just as they weren’t. They could see his larynx bob as he swallowed. Their hand twitched.

“Is this the same for you..?” Jeritza croaked.

“I...” Ah no, they were getting dizzy. “I... think I need to sit down.” Jeritza started back, visibly confused. Byleth was vaguely aware of his arms moving before they slumped to their hands and knees. Their head still spun, their body still overfilled with _something_ , and they wished they could just get on and _faint_ if they were going to!

They screwed their eyes shut, let themself focus only on the world immediately around them: the ragged grass between their fingers, the distant rabble of the city, the indescribable yet inescapable presence of the Sword of the Creator beside them.

And none of that was helping.

“Are you injured?” There was something genuine, _invested_ in Jeritza’s voice, that somehow sounded too much like his earlier... _speech_. “Or... heatstroke? Are you able to get heatstroke?”

“...I don’t know,” Byleth managed to rasp. Dizziness, too-tight muscles, uncomfortable clamminess... Could be heatstroke. (They didn’t think it was heatstroke.)

“Then we should... go inside?”

“I guess so.” They couldn’t hear him moving. It took opening their eyes to realise he was standing with a hand outstretched to help them to their feet. They forced their eyes back closed and opened them up again. No, still there, whether their mind accepted the image or not.

They fumbled for their sword before grabbing his wrist and helping themself back up. At least their legs were holding out fine.

When they next looked, Jeritza was staring blankly at the hand holding his captive. “Oh, sorry,” Byleth mumbled, quickly letting go. Jeritza turned away with a cough. “Maybe we should wrap things up here. The heat must be getting to the both of us.”

“Yes,” he said, too quickly. “The heat.” Byleth nodded. Then he nodded back. This was definitely the heat and not anything to do with Jeritza’s-

Yes. Heat.

  
  


Byleth poked at a few more keys on the drawing room’s harpsichord. The discordant notes were enough to make Jeritza flinch from across the room and look up from his borrowed book on exotic zoology. “Do you not tire of that?” he asked wearily.

“I’ll probably never get to touch one again.” A big instrument like this, it definitely wasn’t suitable for someone like them who was so often on the move. “So I’m making the most of the time I have.”

“If you were making the most of it, you would be playing something decent.”

“If you want me to be able to do that, come teach me how.” Jeritza grumbled something inaudible and refocussed on his book. “You don’t know how either, huh.”

“I have no need of such a skill.” True, they couldn’t imagine Jeritza devoting much energy into the skills needed to entertain guests, noble background or no.

Byleth frowned as another pair of notes sounded terrible together. Maybe they should give up on this whole harmony thing. They assumed that the keys that stood closest to each other would sound the best together, but so far their philosophy wasn’t applying well to reality.

There was a knock at the door, and Byleth turned to see a young man in a guard’s uniform enter the room. “I was told to give this to General von Hrym, sir!” He held out a sealed letter.

Jeritza clapped his book shut and peeled himself upright from his chair. He didn’t say anything, just silently took the letter and dismissed the guard with a nod. Byleth didn’t miss the nasty look the guard shot towards them as he made his exit. Ah well, dislike was honestly more palatable than fear.

“Directions.” Jeritza removed the top sheet of paper and handed it off to Byleth to skim through it. Apparently Sparrow had asked around the people in camp who actually knew the local geography and had built up quite the tourist guide for them.

Byleth looked out the window at the sun high in the sky. “If we start looking now, we should find somewhere good for lunch.” Jeritza nodded.

“I shall ask the stables to prepare our horses at once-”

“Or we could walk!” Byleth interjected. Saints, they refused to spend more time on a horse this mission than they had to.

Jeritza paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I suppose horses would attract more attention.” Byleth nodded eagerly. An excellent point!

“Well, let’s get ready and head out!”

  
  


“This was one of the names on the list, wasn’t it?” Byleth said, pulling at their companion’s sleeve to get him to stop. He turned and looked up to the sign Byleth was pointing up at. He dug Sparrow’s letter out of his pocket and leafed through it.

“The White Lion. One of the more recent ones.”

Some passer by swore loudly behind them, and Byleth felt themself get shoved out of the way. “I think we’re blocking traffic.”

“We should have brought horses after all.”

“And pay to stable them all over the city? Your budgeting needs work: E.”

“It has to be better than E if it only ‘needs work’!”

“Oh? Are _you_ the budgeting professor now?”

“You aren’t either!”

“You don’t know that. I might have drastically adjusted my teaching style after the war started.”

In lieu of responding to Jeritza’s disapprovingly folded arms, Byleth spun back to face the tavern they’d stopped them for. “Anyway. Lunch.” They could hear Jeritza sigh as he followed them in.

The inside of the White Lion was more spacious than Byleth had expected, as airy as anywhere north of the Oghma mountains could reasonably be. The tables were overflowing with lavishly dressed patrons but still well spaced, and there seemed to be a new bottle of wine wherever they looked. Even in the nice clothes the emperor had supplied them with, Byleth felt woefully underdressed here. And they were suddenly extremely grateful they’d convinced Jeritza to ditch the armour before heading out, lest they be chucked out immediately for dress code reasons.

To Byleth’s surprise it was _Jeritza_ who finished taking in the room first, and made for the bar, leaving them to scramble after him. “What are you having?” he mumbled to them once they caught up, staring intently at at the chalkboard on the back wall. They baulked.

“Why are there so many options?!” they hissed, scanning the excessive menu of food and drink. “What’s wrong with just having stew, beer, and liquor?”

“There is still soup.” There was still soup. That was _almost_ like having stew.

“...And who pays over a thousand gold for a single bottle of wine?!”

“Is that not what wine usually costs?”

Byleth turned to glare at him. “I’m changing your grade in budgeting. F+.”

The soft voice of the bartender interrupted their bickering. “Excuse me, can I take your orders?”

“Soup,” Byleth blurted on reflex. The bartender, to her credit, smiled and ignored their obviously awkward demeanour.

“We’re offering an Airmid pike consommé today,” she continued.

“...Yes. Please.” They had absolutely no clue what a consommé was. Maybe it was just a local thing.

She turned her attention to Jeritza. “And for you?”

“The mixed berry tart.” That was just a dessert! “...And water.” Byleth surreptitiously checked the menu; somehow water cost less than even the cheapest beer here. Seemed off but...

“Back up to E,” they muttered under their breath. They pretended they didn’t see Jeritza’s lips quirk up.

“Anything else?” the barkeep asked expectantly. The pair of them shook their heads. “Are you sure?” She looked a little nervous, her eyes skittering off to the side every now and then. “Surely I can persuade you to indulge a little? I’m sure you aren’t set to stay in Gideon for all that long.” Her smile seemed a lot faker than before.

“With what the viscount keeps trying to feed us, I don’t think we’re short on indulging,” Byleth said. In an instant, the bartender’s smile turned brittle.

“You’re... _friends_ of the viscount then?”

“Guests,” Jeritza corrected. Definitely not friends.

“Do you know him yourself?” Byleth asked, watching her scared reaction with curiosity. It seemed a bit too extreme for just meeting someone with a lot of power.

“Oh, n-no, of course not!” she said hurriedly. “I mean, the owners are close with him, but that’s nothing to do with me!” Well, that wasn’t news, considering why they were here. “I’ll bring your order to you in a moment, so why don’t you go sit yourselves down?”

Before either of them could get in another word, she dashed through a curtained doorway.

“But we haven’t paid...” Byleth cut Jeritza off with a hand on his shoulder.

“Good budgeting means never turning down a free meal. G+.”

“Stop making up grades.”

It was a pain to find anywhere to sit, but a well placed hard glare from both of them (and possibly the intimidating weapons they each had strapped to them) ‘convinced’ a couple of drunk merchants to free up their corner table, giving them a little more privacy than the bulk of the room.

Byleth leant in to whisper, “She was acting suspicious.”

“Very,” Jeritza muttered back. His gaze flicked past them to focus on something. “She’s returning.”

“Hm?” The retreated back up, peering around and almost bashing their head against the jug of water the barmaid was carrying with her.

“Here you are,” she said, setting down a tray with their food. The smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes; those were filled with the fear Byleth had plenty seen on the battlefield. “I’m afraid the owners aren’t present today, but please enjoy your meal regardless.”

Again, even as Byleth opened their mouth to speak, she turned and fled. They hesitated, one arm halfway out to stop her. Maybe it was better to leave her be, if she was really so frightened by them.

Shaking their head, they decided to attend to their soup for now. They stared down at the elegant ceramic bowl they’d been presented with.

“Where’s the rest of it?” they asked faintly, poking it with their spoon. Alas, it remained a perfectly clear, flawless mass. Like tea that smelled of fish. “Why would anyone do this to an Airmid pike?”

“Perhaps it tastes good,” Jeritza said around a spoonful of custard. Byleth gingerly tried scooping up some of their ‘soup’. It was more viscous than a broth had any right to be. They shut their eyes and shoved it in their mouth.

Regretfully they replaced the spoon in the bowl and pushed the whole thing nice and far away from them.

It had finally happened. They’d found a meal that even they couldn’t stand.

  
  


“So this is what a textile mill looks like,” Byleth mused. The building they stood before was unassuming, with a flat façade and small windows. It didn’t stand out among the other tall buildings along this back street.

“What were you expecting?”

Byleth shrugged. “I thought there’d be a wheel.

“Now let’s see if the owner’s in this time, shall we?” The front door opened and closed with the tinkle of a tiny bell.

Inside, the ground floor was painfully plain, not so much as a rug on the floor to brighten up the dreary foyer. A counter jutted out at the far end of the room, and when they pricked their ears, Byleth could make out light snoring over the muted bustle of something (textile milling?) upstairs. Cautiously they crept forwards.

An old woman sat slumped over the lower level on the far side of the counter, face pressed into an open book and drooling onto the pages. Quiet day, huh.

Byleth politely rapped on the surface of the counter, watching in mild amusement as the woman shot to attention, her neck giving an audible click in protest.

“You’re...” she said blearily, hurriedly wiping at her eyes. “Right, customers. Good morning! How may I help you today?!”

“It’s afternoon,” Jeritza said from halfway across the room. He was staring at the wall, as if there was anything more exciting that whitewash upon it.

“Good afternoon! How may I help you today?!” Well, no one could fault her for enthusiasm.

“We’re here...” Byleth trailed off. They really should’ve planned these confrontations better. “We’re here to follow up on some previous business with Viscount Elsetti.” They figured if they kept it vague, eventually someone else would fill in the gaps and Byleth would finally have a clue what they were talking about.

The woman behind the counter paused for a moment, then looked resolutely down at the papers on her side of the counter in a way that suggested she was more trying to avoid making eye contact with Byleth than anything else. “The previous... _wares_ are still in use, thank you. We will not require your services at present.” Still in use... Did Elsetti trade textile looms on the side or something?

“It’s just I’ve tracked down some new models that would really help your business flourish,” Byleth continued to bluff, setting a casual elbow down on the counter in a way they hoped looked suitably business-y.

“New models?” The woman didn’t look too surprised. “I’m afraid training would be quite the hassle during the current season.” Byleth nodded along conversationally.

“I assure you, there’s no additional training required for these.” Was this the norm for looms? Maybe!

“Still, space is a concern for us, here.”

“I see. What a shame. I’ll suppose I’ll have to go elsewhere for now!”

“I really am sorry we’re not in a position to take such a specialised shipment off your hands today,” the woman continued with a smile on her face. “Nevertheless, tell the viscount we send our regards.”

Byleth smiled back before grabbing Jeritza and retreating back out of the building.

“Well that was useful,” they said. Jeritza looked on with an unsure expression. “Not only did we find out the viscount peddles looms, but it’s been all but confirmed he’s got his fingers in other pies around here too. A whole _banquet_ of undeclared income! Exactly what the Emperor wanted us to discover.” Good job, team!

“...So perhaps it was unrelated,” Jeritza muttered under his breath. Byleth tilted their head in question. “Never mind.” He brought out Sparrow’s letter and rifled through it. “There is another place close to here.”

“Lead the way!”

Byleth happily followed Jeritza back down the street they’d come from, and into a different road that was barely more than an alley. The storeyed houses loomed overhead, the view up to the twilit sky cluttered with balconies and crossed with clotheslines.

“‘From the end of the alley, three doors down. It’s the one with the lantern.’” Jeritza looked up from the letter.

“It’s the Pink Pony we’re looking for, right?” Byleth stared down the gaudily painted lantern hanging just to the side of what was an unusually robust door for the area.

“Yes, why do you-” He stopped, clearly also noticing the bright pink horses plastered all over the unlit glass. “I suppose that is as precise a sign as any.” He wandered closer.

“I wonder what Elsetti could possibly be selling to a brothel,” Byleth commented, trotting after him. Jeritza abruptly froze.

“A what?”

“That sort of lantern means it’s a brothel, doesn’t it?” And with the out of the way location, blacked out windows, general secretive atmosphere... Seemed like a brothel to them.

“Does it?!”

“It’s unlit so they’re probably not accepting customers right now, but there’s no harm in trying anyway, right?” They tried to keep walking, only for Jeritza’s hand to come down heavily on their shoulder and tug them back round.

“We- There’s no need for us to go in there.” He was barely speaking above a whisper.

“I doubt anyone from in there’s going to want to come out here to speak with us,” Byleth countered back. Jeritza continued to avoid eye contact, face stiffened. Byleth sighed and placed their unhindered hand onto _his_ shoulder. “We’re both adults. It’s perfectly reasonable for us to take a nice trip to a brothel.” Besides, they were curious to what it was like inside one; going from sheltered mercenary to employee of the Church had really stunted their opportunities on that front.

“Someone could- What if we’re seen?” Jeritza hissed. It was hard to tell in the low light, but his face looked rather more... flushed than they were used to. “Since we are recognisable representatives of the Empire...” He trailed away, blatantly having not thought far enough to reach the end of his argument. Byleth’s chest felt oddly light at his pained expression.

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“It’s not,” he snapped, finally looking them in the eye long enough to glare, and long enough for Byleth to see the panic in his gaze. The light feeling buoyed up into their throat.

“You’re embarrassed about going in!”

“I am not!” he insisted, cheeks still pink. “It’s the other thing!”

Behind them, Byleth heard the creak of a door opening and turned their head to see. A woman in a fluffy fur stole edged out carrying a lit candle. She reached up to open the lantern and lit it with her own flame, the pink horses quickly beginning to glow. As she blew her candle out, she looked up, catching sight of Byleth and Jeritza. “Evening, strangers,” she said with a sultry smile. “Hasn’t been too cold out here, I hope-”

Her expression suddenly turned to one of surprise at the same instant that Byleth felt Jeritza slip out from under their hand. By the time they’d managed to whip their head back around, the place he’d been standing was already filled with a bright pillar of purple light.

The thing in their chest hiccuped, and bubbled, and finally spilt into open-mouthed laughter. The host to the fearsome Death Knight, fleeing not from a bloody death in battle, but instead from the mere possibility of the _implication_ he may wish to purchase a sex act.

Ah, but they’d best go track him down. They offered a parting wave over their shoulder and set off, hearing the door behind them close again.

Jeritza hadn’t gone far; he was standing stone faced just round the corner where the alley connected back to the street. He resolutely stared at the cobblestone ground even as Byleth sidled up to stand beside him.

“Sure you aren’t just embarrassed?” they grinned, laughter threatening to burst out still. Jeritza groaned and slumped back against the wall of the building behind them. “I better make sure I write this all down to report to the Emperor later.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?” he grumbled.

“A little.” With a sigh of their own, they too leant back against the wall. “You’re more fun to mess with than most, though.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

Byleth shrugged. “I suppose I mean it as a compliment. I’m always sure you can fight back if you want. More like hunting a wolf than trapping a rabbit.” They stopped, smirked. “Or hunting a wild cat, I guess.” Jeritza let out a huff that could have been laughter.

“There’s more feeling to it, either way.”

“See? You understand.”

  
  


Cleansed of the dust of the city, Byleth wandered back into the guest drawing room, still towelling off their hair. Jeritza had stoked the fire while they were bathing, and it crackled pleasantly as he sat in an armchair, reading. They let the towel fall around their shoulders and walked forward so they could peer over his shoulder. Looked like he was still on that zoology book. “They have cats outside of Fódlan too?” they murmured, examining the drawing of a chunky, striped feline that took up most of one page. A Dagdan ‘tiger’, according to the caption.

Jeritza nodded. “These ones are larger than a human.”

“Ooh.” Giant cat. “I wonder if they could be ridden into battle.” Jeritza hummed, then started flipping back through pages.

“There was something else they ride...”

Before he could find what he was looking for, a commotion started out in the corridor.

“ _Careful_ with that!” came the muffled cry of Viscount Elsetti. “I’m not paying you to _break_ things!”

“Sorry, sir!”

Byleth and Jeritza took one look at each other. In sync, they got up and snuck over to the door and cracked it open, just enough to see what was happening.

Elsetti stood at the top of the stairs down, tapping his foot impatiently as a group of men lugged several large sacks up. By Byleth’s reckoning, they had the look of mercenaries about them, weapons on their belts and scars on their skin. “Usual place, sir?”

“Keep your voice down,” Elsetti hissed. “I have guests I do not wish to wake.” A bit early for that, Byleth noted.

His words didn’t stop the mercenaries’ heavy footsteps down the opposite end of the corridor, the contents of their luggage clearly hindering their ability to be light-footed. The viscount accompanied them to a door right at the end, retrieving a set of keys to unlock it with, and letting them all in.

They disappeared for a while, too far away to be audible.

But then they all emerged, the mercenaries smiling and unencumbered. “Good doing business with ya, Viscount.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Now, how about a drink for the road?”

The group retreated downstairs once more, until all that was left in the corridor was the distant echo of laughter and clinking glasses.

“Hm,” said Byleth, pulling away from the door. “Think that’s important?”

“It sounds like there’s more men downstairs.” He too stepped back, pushing the door shut. “But yes, it may do us good to investigate that room next.”

“I say we wait until they’ve cleared out, in case things go wrong and we get drawn into a fight.”

“I have no qualm with-”

“Think of the inconvenience of washing all that blood out of the rugs.”

Jeritza crossed his arms, a pose that didn’t quite have the same impact when he was clad only in a nightshirt and still had slightly damp hair. “ _We_ won’t have to wash them.” Byleth sighed.

“One day I am going to force you to realise the impact you have on the people that have to clean up after you, and I expect to be praised from the heavens for it.” He looked suitably chastised, at least.

“Fine. We can wait till tomorrow.” Better. They offered him their best smile. He just sighed and reached out to poke at their cheek, nail digging into their skin.

“Ow.”

“That face doesn’t work on me; I already know your true nature.” Byleth let their smile drop, Jeritza’s finger naturally falling away.

“Good. It hurts to do that for too long.”

“Hm. I wonder how the viscount endures it.”

“Honestly, I have been wondering that since we got here...”


End file.
